


Shattering

by KellynKupcake



Series: Reflections [6]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cheating, Edging, Emotional Affair, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Slow Sex, Smut, outer sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellynKupcake/pseuds/KellynKupcake
Summary: John continues to struggle with the fact that Abigail’s feelings surrounding him are unknown. At the same time he finds that the type of honest woman he has always dreamed of gives him the type of affection he’s always hoped for from Abigail.Also Arthur is like, really judgey lmao.Part 6 of the Reflections series. These stories can be read as stand alone's but were intended as a series.





	Shattering

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to state for the record before I start this story that I LOVE Abigail! I love her and her relationship with John. I guess she is the villain of this story in a way. But hopefully I’ve done a good job at portraying her as the villain in John’s mind rather than just an evil bitch because that’s absolutely not who she is!

John breathed heavily in the mid-morning sun. Wiping beaded sweat off his brow with the back of his hand he blinked lazily at the back of Arthur’s head as they pushed onward through the dusty desert back towards their hidden campsite.

It had been a gruelling three day job but it had paid off handsomely. With just himself and Arthur to work it, he had been excited to get a split share between only two people.

It had been his tip they were working on and if he was honest, he was scared it would turn out to be bullshit. But the coach had rolled through right on time that first day, just as he had been told and they had easily held it up.

What they hadn’t anticipated was the lawmen that just happened to be riding out towards Blackwater to investigate something unrelated. They had happened upon the pair of outlaws just as they were finishing loading up their horses and a chase had ensued.

As a result they had spent an extra two days hiding out inside a small cavern on the cliff side, waiting for suspicion to die down. Arthur had been well prepared for something to go wrong, even if he hadn’t expected it. John however had been woefully unprepared and suffered, sleeping on the cold, hard ground as punishment.

Once upon a time Arthur would have taken pity on him, letting him share his bedroll. But ever since that business where John had ran away from the gang, their relationship hadn’t been the same.

Arthur was still pissed at him a year later. He could tell in the way he spoke to him. He really hadn’t wanted to ask Arthur for help on this job. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stand the ribbing on the trip their and back.

But as it turned out Arthur had been relatively kind. Even when John had fucked up and got them noticed. He hadn’t really mentioned it and John wondered briefly if maybe he had finally been forgiven or if Arthur had simply given up on berating him. Finally running out of creative ways to call him stupid.

John hoped deep down he had been forgiven. Because really, he thought to himself bitterly. Arthur was pretty much the only true friend he had.

Arthur broke the silence between them as they rode slowly passed a road sign pointing down a path to a small town they could just see in the distance. It was the closest town to their camp, but having only been set up in that specific spot for a few  days, neither of them had had the chance to check it out yet.

Arthur had suggested they go for a look on their way out of camp, but they hadn’t had time.

“Come on.” He said, pointing towards the sign. “Lets go and get a bite to eat before we head back.” He grumbled, spurring his horse forward but pulling up on the reigns when he realised John wasn’t following. “What?” He asked, looking back at the other man who shrugged hesitantly.

“I… I shouldn’t.” He said weakly, his stomach growling at the thought. Arthur frowned at him, bringing Boadicea around to come up beside John once more.

“Come on Marston we made a killin’ on that job. You can afford a damn meal.” He laughed half-heartedly. John stared at Old Boy’s mane, running his fingers through it as a means of distraction while he weighed his options. Arthur tilted his head in question, edging Bo closer to John and lifting his foot from the stirrup to nudge at John’s calf.

“I guess…” John answered quietly, barely audible over the soft yet impatient pounding of Old Boy’s hoof against the dirt.

“What’s goin’ on with you?” Arthur asked, irritated by the other party’s disinterest.

John looked up, surprised by the question.

“Nothin’…” He answered too quickly, shrugging once more and making Arthur sigh. “Come on.” John said softly, nodding in the direction of town. The older man nodded in agreement, clicking his tongue and urging Bo forwards.

John wasn’t sure how to go about telling Arthur that he really couldn’t afford a meal. The money they had just made was due in the box for camp funds. It had been a long time since he had been able to donate any cash and Dutch was making it increasingly clear that hunting and general chores weren’t cutting it anymore. He was expected to pull his weight financially which he understood was fair. But he alone was providing for three people and the share he was expected to donate from his takings was always a lot larger than the other camp member’s.

Nearly all of his money this month was to go to camp funds and what was left over was to go to Abigail for new clothes for herself and Jack. If he stopped to eat he wouldn’t have as much left over as she was expecting and he was bound to hear about it later.

Arthur side eyed the younger man as they made their way towards the saloon and stopped in front of the hitching posts. He watched the way the brunette slid off the saddle and landed shakily. He paused momentarily, almost as if to steady his balance and catch his breath, before hitching Old Boy to the post and starting towards the front steps of the building. Arthur watched him go, completely oblivious to the fact that he was not following.

Eventually John turned, giving a questioning look to the older man as he casually slipped from his own saddle, giving Bo a pat on the rump as he walked away.

“Aren’t you gonna hitch him?” John asked, pointing to the post in demonstration as Arthur laughed energetically.

“Nah.” He said casually, keeping on with his pace as he reached John and started up the stairs. “Better to leave him untied. He ain’t goin’ nowhere and if there’s trouble I don’t want him tied to a bloody post.” He explained as John jogged up the stairs after him.

“You think there’ll be trouble?” He asked, anxiety clear in his tone. Arthur turned to study him once more, stopping completely and folding his arms across his chest. John stopped in inch away from the older man, taking a backstep in surprise as he reached the top of the stairs and realised he had halted.

“You sure you’re okay Marston?” Arthur asked, making John frown.

“I said I’m fine!” He said defensively, raising his voice in annoyance.

“Since when do you care if there’s trouble?” Arthur asked sceptically.

John leaned forwards.

“Since I got money I can’t afford to lose.” He growled.

A momentary silence consumed them as John crossed his own arms over his chest to show he wasn’t intimidated by the older man’s stature. Arthur’s lip quirked in amusement. John always had been one to mimic him even without realising it.

“Well calm the hell down. There won’t be no trouble.” Arthur said finally, turning to push his way through the large double doors. John followed, sighing in relief that Arthur deemed the conversation over.

“I’ll get us a table. You get the waitress.” Arthur ordered, gesturing first towards a few empty tables to the right and then left towards the bar. “Pretty sure they do table service here. Order me a coffee if they don’t.” He instructed as he sauntered off towards the seating area.

John watched him go, irritated that he was still being ordered around despite the job being over.

He made his way to the bar, silently stewing as he looked for a sign explaining the order process.

He leaned on the bar, looking to his left the barmaid caught his attention. Her long golden hair was pulled together in a messy braid and her voluptuous frame was held up delectably with a shiny silver corset and skirt combo that complimented her hair and sparkling blue eyes.

“Miss.” He said simply, nodding his head in her direction as he leaned on the bar and waited for her to finish with her current patron. She nodded back, indicating she had seen him as she poured a shot of whiskey for a large bearded man that looked as though he really needed it.

John stared at the bar, moving a finger to push a small crumb towards an erratic ant that immediately scooped it up and started off towards the end of the bar. He smiled to himself before wincing painfully as a large hand came down hard on the insect. A relief filled exhale leaving the man that had just downed his shot and slammed in back on the bar. John pursed his lips, rubbing his hand over his face and sighing inwardly. It was just an ant. But he felt it was the perfect metaphor for any time he ever tried to do good in his life.

“What can I get you?” The barmaid asked, jerking him out of his contemplation with a wide smile and cheery voice.

“Oh… um.. two coffees please?” He asked hesitantly. It took him a moment to remember Arthur’s instruction and he cursed himself for being so dumb.

In retrospect this was probably why he was never in charge.

The woman nodded, and set about pouring the steamy liquid in to two mugs before taking his money and entering it in the register. John looked back at Arthur, grinding his teeth together as he thought.

“Do ya’ll do table service for food?” He asked, turning back to the woman and watching as she shook her head softly. “No sir, I’m sorry.” She answered, placing a hand on her cocked hip and brushing golden strands from her face. John nodded in understanding.

“Alright.” He replied placing each hand on a cup of coffee and looking back to her. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

The woman watched as he picked up the mugs and tilted her head in question.

“I can take your order here.” She smiled.

“It’s alright. My friend…” He lifted a finger from one of the cups and pointed to Arthur across the room. “He thought you might do table service.” He explained. “I just gotta find out what he wants.”

The woman nodded in understanding, glancing over at Arthur and then back to John as a sly smile spread across her features.

“Well we don’t usually do table service…” She said slowly, leaning forwards on the bar and resting her chest on her folded arms. John couldn’t help but glance towards her breasts, the way they bulged lusciously from the top of her corset catching his attention. He flicked his eyes back to hers quickly and realised he had been caught staring. A warm flush covered his cheeks as he cleared his throat in embarrassment. The barmaid smiled cheekily. “But for you I might make an exception.” She grinned, raising a brow in a suggestive manner and making John’s breath hitch.

“Uh… thank you…” He said softly, voice hoarse.

“Not from around here?” She asked, giving him a once over and grinning at his flush.

“Uh no… West.” He answered simply, suddenly feeling as though all words had escaped him.

“Oh I hear it’s hot out there.” She replied conversationally. John nodded, not trusting his voice as he tried in vain to keep the smile off his face. He inexplicably wanted the conversation to keep going. He tried to think of something else to say but the burning from the hot coffee in his hands began to take priority over his social needs.

The woman chuckled to herself. extending her arms and pushing off the bar before reaching out to touch his hand lightly with hers.

“You go on over and sit. I’ll be there to take your order in a minute.” She said kindly, turning away from him and rummaging through some papers on the other side of the counter.

John smiled to himself, averting his eyes as the blush spreading across his cheeks deepened. His chest feeling warm and fuzzy for the first time in months. He made his way back to the table where Arthur was scribbling in his journal. He was leant back in his chair, legs extended out straight and crossed over one another.

John placed a coffee down in front of him and took the opposite seat. He sipped at his own drink before sitting it down in front of himself.

He stole a quick glance towards the woman behind the bar, looking away when he realised she was still watching him. The sheepish smile he’d acquired at the bar stayed with him as he busied himself drinking his coffee as to not seem so obvious.

He felt a pang of guilt settle in his gut as he thought of Abigail back at camp. The barmaid was such a stark contrast from her. Light hair, fair skin and most appealingly, warm and welcoming. He had felt as though she was actually interested in what he had to say.

In fact he felt he could even go so far as to say she was interested in him in general. The way her eyes had sparked when she had caught him leering.

He chastised himself mentally. Shaking his head as he reminded himself he was fundamentally unlovable. Even his own wife wasn’t interested in his advances. What were the odds of him happening to stumble across another person way out here in the east; so deeply damaged that they would find him of interest.

Basically nil. He rationalised, face falling involuntarily as the smile he had managed to hold on to for longer than usual slipped away from him.

He frowned in to his coffee, unable to stop himself from getting lost in his thoughts.

Abigail hadn’t touched him in a long time. Her attentions were almost a foreign concept at this point. He wasn’t sure he would know how to handle it if she did suddenly decide he was worth her time. When the subject was broached by him she liked to remind him that she didn’t owe him anything regardless of their marital status. He wasn’t exactly sure how that worked. He understood that she had the right to deny him her body. Being her husband did not mean he was entitled to her sexual attention. But being married also meant he wasn’t allowed to seek it from others.

He had no intention of doing so. But he was a man with needs. Not all of them sexual. Most fell in to the category of general affection. She refused him even the most basic warmth, but then forbade him from searching for it else ware. This left him starved for affection and sexually frustrated.

He sometimes wondered if that was her plan all along. Some sort of sick punishment for getting her pregnant and making her unable to work or live by her own means. Or perhaps it was his punishment for leaving.

She liked to remind him of the fact he had run off on her and how much she had been hurt by it. Never mind the reason he had left or his own pain forever mulling inside at the site of her.

He quietly suspected that contrary to what she preached, him running off was the best thing he had ever done for her. She was able to get him to do just about anything at the drop of a hat, simply by mentioning it. The threat of reminding everyone what a deadbeat he was, always fresh on her tongue ready to be used against him at a moment’s notice.

He was sure no one had really forgotten what he had done. In fact, others frequently made it known that they remembered and it tore at him painfully. Every time he was reminded it forced him to close himself off a little bit more to those that used it against him.

He liked to think sometimes that they didn’t know the full story. That if they did, they might not be so quick to hurt him with the assault of memories that came from their nasty words. But then he remembered the fact that most, if not all of his friends and makeshift family had been privy to Abigail’s infidelity and had chosen to keep it quiet for their own benefit.

He spent more time than he cared to admit, wondering why it was okay in their eyes for her to hurt him so deeply. But the thought of him hurting her had everyone ready to throw hands.

Perhaps it was Jack and the fact that he found it so hard to bond with the boy. Others didn’t seem to have the issues he did with Fatherly affection and his own shortcoming shone brightly next to someone like Arthur that stepped in to the Fatherly role with ease and made him look the fool.

Regardless of if Jack was biologically his son, he loved the boy. He knew logically it was his responsibility to be his Father and deep down he felt that was something he wanted. But he wasn’t sure exactly how to go about it. Fathering didn’t come naturally to him.

John was pulled from his thoughts as Arthur nudged his arm non-too gently. He looked up, apologizing to both Arthur and the pretty barmaid that was waiting to take his order. He stuttered as he spoke, feeling as though he had been speaking aloud.  He ordered the beef stew. Jumbled worlds earning himself a raised brow from his counterpart as the woman giggled, nodding and leaving them with a smile.

John’s eyes followed her, trailing briefly on her ass before turning back to his coffee.

Arthur shook his head, looking away from John and pursing his lips as he focused his attention else ware.

“What?” John asked finally, annoyed by the other man’s obvious disapproval. He felt scolded and he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Nothin’.” Arthur answered simply, his tone flat. John frowned, staring down at his coffee as he thought.

“Good well you just keep your opinions to yourself then.” He grumbled, ignoring the vicious side-eye this afforded him.

“Dammit Marston. You’re a married man.” Arthur hissed, his fisted hand slamming down on the table gently considering the venom in his voice.

“So what?” John asked, exasperated. “Bein’ married don’t mean I stop noticin’ when someone is good lookin’.” He said blatantly, shoulders shrugging as Arthur shook his head again.

“It should.” He said simply, his judgement making John’s cheeks burn despite his resolve that he wasn’t in the wrong. He thought the waitress was pretty. He never intended to act on those feelings. He loved Abigail.

“I ain’t mean anything by it.” John said softly, voice small as he picked at the dirt under his nails.

“You think Abigail would be okay with the way you was lookin’ at that woman if she was here?” Arthur asked, gaze steely as he eyed the other man. John shrugged, not having a response for the older man. He honestly wasn’t sure how Abigail would feel about it. He thought that maybe he knew deep down she wouldn’t care. But he kept that locked away, filed under things he couldn’t deal with in his fragile state.

Their meals were delivered relatively quickly and the barmaid joked with them about how she would have to start delivering all the meals as others had seen her do it for them. They thanked her profusely as she left them be, telling them not for the first time that it really was her pleasure.

John kept his eyes to himself under Arthur’s watchful gaze.

He ate his meal in silence. Stewing silently over the way Arthur had reacted to his momentary happiness. It had been a long time since he had felt anything other than desolation. He tried not to show it lest the others think he was weak but he knew sometimes it seeped out in the way he acted or spoke.

He felt Arthur of all people should understand his situation. Possibly even feel empathy towards him considering his own troubled past with Mary Gillis.

But no, John lamented as he took another bite of his lunch. Arthur was more concerned with Abigail’s wellbeing than his own. As long as he was providing for her and the boy, his own happiness was a null point.

He shook away those thoughts, trying to enjoy his food but it tasted bitter and burnt like his feelings.

He ate it anyway, sighing in relief as the rumbling in his stomach finally stopped. He hadn’t really eaten properly in several days. The few berry’s he had been able to scavenge from around their hiding spot inside the cavern did nothing to sate his hunger after the one can of vegetables he had brought with him had been eaten on their first night out of camp.

Dutch had seen him take it from the camp kitchen and he had felt the strong sting of disappointment course through the other man as he had shaken his head slowly in his direction.

He hadn’t taken any more than that. Watching bitterly as Arthur stocked up his pack in case they got stuck away from home. He had become increasingly aware of Dutch’s resent towards him the longer he went without donating to the camp funds.

Arthur hadn’t noticed when John skipped meal times. Offering instead to do the first watch so Arthur could eat and sleep and then falling straight in to bed when it was his turn. He supposed the older man had assumed he had eaten during his watch.

The stockpile of food, weapons, bullets, blankets and medical supplies were all free for the taking for any member of the gang. But this wasn’t the first time Dutch had put a ban on someone for not paying their share. This was just the first time it had happened to John. It hurt more than he cared to admit. He had been a member of the gang for half his life and he thought of them as family. He worked his ass off for them. He was always the first to jump in to the line of fire for the sake of the gang and he couldn’t help how little money the gang as a whole had been making lately.

He wanted to confront Dutch. To ask why the hell he deserved to starve when he contributed just as many physical goods to the gang as any other member. But he already knew what the answer would be and he knew there was no point.

“It’s only fair son.” Dutch would say in a practised tone that made him sound empathetic. “You can take out what you put in and you ain’t been puttin’ in any money or food.”

John would remind him that he can’t bring in more money if he isn’t sent out on more jobs.

Dutch would suggest he hunts for the gang instead.

John would ask how the hell he was supposed to hunt when he wasn’t allowed to take any bullets from the stockpile.

Dutch would suggest fishing instead. It was inexpensive and he was welcome to eat whatever meal Pearson could make out of his catch.

John would remind him that he’s allergic to fish and Dutch would shrug before patting him on the shoulder and sending him on his way.

John would continue not to fish out of spite.

He clenched his fists under the table.

‘No point.’ He thought irritably, glaring at his empty plate.

“You done?” Arthur asked, an amused smile on his lips as he watched John scowl at his plate. “You seem angry you ain’t got any food left.” He sniggered, stopping abruptly as John turned his sour face on him.

“Very funny.” He spat sarcastically, pushing himself away from the table and standing abruptly. Arthur followed suit, keeping a wary distance behind his brother as he stalked towards the bar.

John put his hands out to catch himself as he practically threw himself against the wooden countertop and stared at his feet until the barmaid came over to speak with him.

“You know table service usually means I bring you a bill.” She laughed, keeping up the friendly banter from earlier. Her smile dropped, face becoming serious as she took in his sour features. John reprimanded himself mentally, forcing a smile to on this face and hoping it leant more towards friendly than menacing.

“Ah… Sorry…” He laughed awkwardly. “We just… we have to go.” He said with a shrug, pulling money from his satchel and turning to take Arthur’s from him. The woman smiled weakly and John let out a small sigh. He had let his violent exterior show and she was frightened. He should have known better.

“It’s a shame you have to leave.” She said softly, leaning over the counter to take the money from his hand and counting it quickly. John perked up somewhat, daring to hope she meant it was a shame to see him go rather than it was a shame he wasn’t spending more money in the establishment.

“There’s a party on here tonight.” She paused. “Well every Friday night.” She explained, turning back to them after depositing the money in the register and leaning on the bar with one hand. “Lots of drinkin’, dancin’…” She trailed off, leaning slightly to the right to look behind John and catch Arthur’s eye as well. “Workin’ women.” She jested. “If you’re in to that sort of thing.”

John cleared his throat, opening his mouth to reply when he felt Arthur’s heavy hand on his shoulder.

“We’re not.” He answered for John, earning himself a frown from both parties. “Thanks for your hospitality ma’am.” He said softly, a warning in his tone directed at John as he tipped his hat and turned towards the exit.

John looked at her apologetically, shrugging as he turned to follow Arthur.

“It was nice talking to you Miss…. Miss…” He trailed off, realising he hadn’t gotten her name. She laughed, answering his unasked question with a bright smile.

“Miss Maggie.” She said cheerily. “Maggie Macfarlane.” She elaborated. John smiled at her, of course she had a pretty name to go with her gorgeous appearance.

“I’m John.” He said, pointing to himself. “John Marston.”

Arthur grunted from somewhere near the door and John rolled his eyes. He knew he was going to get reamed later for using his real name.

“Nice to meet you John Marston.” She said softly, her eyes flicking between himself and Arthur. John nodded at her, turning back to Arthur and starting towards him. “Hope to see ya’ll here tonight.” Maggie called, walking along the bar with him and pressing herself against the end of it as he kept walking.

Arthur was paused in the doorway, shaking his head disapprovingly as he waited for John to catch up.

John glowered at him, discreetly shooting him the finger as he walked through the open door Arthur was holding.

 

~

 

“I don’t think she’d care.” John said softly. So quiet, Arthur wasn’t sure he’d actually heard it.

“What?” He asked, turning back to the other man with a confused expression on his face.

“Abigail.” John clarified, pausing to think. “I don’t think she’d care.” He repeated.

Arthur frowned, confused for a second before remembering their earlier conversation in the saloon. He has posed the question and John hadn’t answered.

“O’ course she’d care.” He said, exasperated. “That was my whole point.”

“I know it was. But you’re wrong.” John said sadly. “She don’t care about me. How many times in all these years do I gotta say it before you believe me?” He asked, spurring Old Boy in to a trot to catch up to Bo.

“You ain’t said it enough times yet. She loves you John. She was heartbroken while you was gone.” Arthur replied, staring forward as the younger man rode up beside him.

“Funny she recovered right quick when I got back.” John spat, anger consuming him. “You think if she’d spent so much time pinin’ that she woulda’ at least been nice to me when I came back.” He griped. “Been happy to see me in the least.”

“She was nice to ya! Nicer than you deserved.” Arthur growled. “She took you back!” He argued. “She let you move back in to her tent.”

“It was my tent.” John grumbled. He had left it behind when he ran away and Abigail had claimed it as her own. He hadn’t fought her for it when he came back as he was just so sorry he had left and desperately wanted her forgiveness.

“My argument still stands.” Arthur sighed. “You ain’t deserve neither of those things after you run off.” He finished, turning to look at his brother.

“You told me it was okay to leave her!” John snapped, addressing the advice he was given for the first time since his return. He had been surprised when Arthur had told him it was okay to leave all those years earlier. But after having such a long time to think about it, he honestly wondered if it was a selfish decision on Arthur’s part. He wondered if Arthur hoped he would leave her so he could have his shot with Abigail.

“I didn’t mean run off for a fucking year. Leave the gang and all!” Arthur shouted back, pulling his horse up to a stop.

“It don’t matter!” John yelled back, pulling Old Boy up next to Boadicea. “You told me it was okay and then all you done since is judge without knowin’ what you’re talkin’ about.” He said flatly, a hard glare meeting Arthur’s eyes.

“I know if I had a woman like Abigail I wouldn’t let her go.” Arthur said simply, not biting John’s bait and asking what he meant by saying he didn’t know what he was talking about. John swallowed audibly, feeling betrayal bubble in his gut as his suspicions were confirmed.

“Well you marry her then!” He said cried, temper rising as his eyes burned and he struggled to keep his emotions at bay. “You want her so bad you take her. She sure as shit wouldn’t mind.” He finished, clicking Old Boy’s reins and turning him back in the other direction.

Arthur watched him go, infuriated and how naive John was being.

“John…” He said softly, voice growing in to a shout by the end of the word. “Get your ass back here!”

John ignored him, walking his horse slowly back towards town as he wrestled with keeping everything he wanted to say inside his mouth. He wanted to scream at Arthur for giving him the advice that fucked everything up. He wanted to tear in to Dutch and tell him he deserved food as much as the next gang member. He wanted to cry to Abigail and ask her why the hell she didn’t love him. To beg her to let him go if she would never truly want him.

Arthur rode up beside John, leaning over and grabbing a hold of Old Boy’s reins and giving them a tug to make him stop. John let him do it, staring down at the horse’s white mane in silence. Not daring to open his mouth in case incessant word vomit poured out of him and gave way to his fragile emotions.

“Come on.” Arthur said softly, regret settling in his stomach at the look on his brother’s face. He could tell he was in pain. He just wasn’t truly sure why. “Stop this. Let’s just get home.” He said gently, pulling John’s horse with him as he turned Bo back around towards camp.

 

~

 

The return to camp was long and tedious without the boys speaking. At some point Arthur had let go of Old Boy’s reins, confident John wasn’t running off anywhere and the horse had simply continued on behind him slowly.

“That party might be a good place to scope out work.” John said, begrudgingly breaking the long standing silence and refusing to look at Arthur as the older man turned to him in surprise.

“It might…” Arthur agreed, narrowing his eyes at the other man. “But we ain’t goin’.” He said definitively, making John gawk.

“Why not?” He asked, irritated with the matter-of-fact manner in which Arthur had just shot him down.

“You ain’t goin’ back to see that woman John.” Arthur sighed, frustration in his tone as he looked the younger man up and down. He thought they had moved passed this.

“It ain’t to see her.” John replied defensively. He was annoyed he had said anything at all. He had actually meant it. He really needed the money and if he was lucky enough to speak with the right person he could potentially earn himself a job that he could pull off without too many others. Another like the one they had just finished that was just himself and Arthur to make him some quick cash to help catch up on his debts.

“Look…” Arthur started, a large sigh caught in his chest as he tried to decide which way to play this.

“Forget it.” John snapped, pushing his position ahead of Arthur and glowering at the path in front of him. He didn’t want to go alone.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea with that woman sniffen’ around you.” Arthur shouted at John’s back, earning himself silence in response. He shook his head, watching the other man increase his distance between them in an act of rebellion.

John would do whatever he wanted anyway. He wasn’t sure why he bothered.

As they approached the thick woodland that hid their camp from sight Arthur answered the shout of one of the guards asking who was riding in. John stayed silent, lost in his own thought as they pushed through the scrub hiding the small trail leading in to camp.

They had only been gone for a few days but as usual most of the camp gathered excitedly as they hitched their horses. The women were eager to hear about the hold up and ease the boredom that always fell over the camp when the men were out working. The men always wanted to talk shop. How many were killed? How much money was made? Did the law find them? Those sorts of things.

Arthur answered the rapid-fire questions as best he could as John began unpacking the horses. He stayed back, as the Arthur was escorted back to camp by many enthusiastic ears. He watched bitterly as Dutch congratulated the older man on a job well done. He thumbed the cash in his coat pocket as he watched Arthur drop his in the box.

“How’d it go?” Abigail asked, jolting him back to reality as she touched him on the upper arm and looked at him with barely concealed anticipation. She had been complaining about Jack growing too fast for the last few weeks. Casually pointing out the fact that the hem of his pants sat half way up his calves instead of at the ankle. She had also been harping on for some time about her own clothes. Explaining to him in agonizing detail that due to the type of fabric they wouldn’t be able to be stitched again if she reopened the last few holes she had repaired.

He knew it was a ploy to bore him to death in the hopes he would throw money at the problem to make it go away. It would have worked had he had any money to throw at her. Instead he listened carefully to the unnecessarily long explanation of how the fabric of her shirt could not be stitched if it was too thin and nodded at the appropriate times to show his feigned interest.

“It went well.” He said slowly, watching as her eyes lit up at his words. He knew she was just here for the money. He found himself wishing she would talk to him. Really talk to him without any motive or objective. Ask him how the job went for real. Because she loved him and was worried for his safety.

“That’s great!” She exclaimed excitedly, the hand on his arm squeezing briefly before coming to rest on her hip.

John swallowed, waiting.

“So how much did you make?” She asked when he stayed silent. If she saw the hurt flash through his eyes she pretended not to, holding out her hand as he pulled the crumpled stack of cash from his pocket.

A small part of him had dared to hope he was wrong and she wasn’t just there for the money.

“Fifty.” He answered softly, counting out forty and putting it back in his pocket. She watched him, her face falling as he handed her the last five.

“Five dollars?” She asked incredulously, taking it from him and waving it in his face. He nodded, unsure what she was expecting him to say. It was all he could spare. “Five isn’t enough to buy the things we need John!” She exclaimed, voice already so close to shouting.

“What do you want from me woman?” He asked irritably, crossing his arms. “It’s all I got, the rest goes in the box…” He explained, tone as even as he could keep it.

“You said you made fifty!” Abigail shouted, making him flinch. “I just saw you count forty. The gang don’t need forty dollars John, we do!” She said blatantly. “Never mind where that last five went, I don’t even wanna know what you did with that.” She stated in a way that told him she did very much want to know what he did with it.

“The gang does need forty Abigail! I ain’t put anything in the box in weeks and Dutch is startin’ to notice. I gotta make up for that.” He said hurriedly, urging her to understand and let it go.

“The extra five?” She asked, stuffing the bill he had given her in the corset under her shirt and putting her hands on her hips as she waited for an explanation.

“Well…” He hesitated. It wasn’t any of her business. But he didn’t want her thinking he had gone and done something sordid like hiring a whore or paying for a deluxe bath. “Excuse me for wantin’ a hot meal after a three day job.” He grumbled, his resolve to stand up for himself crumbling as he spoke.

“Oh!” Abigail cried sarcastically. “A hot meal. O’ course! Because Jack and I would know what one of them tasted like!” She yelled. John rolled his eyes in exasperation. She certainly would know what a hot meal tasted like. Jack would also. He hadn’t inherited his Father’s fish allergy. They had been eating better than him for weeks.

“I’m done with this Abigail.” He said tiredly, picking up his pack and walking away from her towards their tent. She followed behind him closely, berating him loudly about how selfish he was.

He ignored her along with the stares he was receiving from other gang members as they passed. He stopped at the box outside Dutch’s tent, making eye contact with the older man as he counted out and dropped the last of his money in there and signed his name on the ledger.

“-Because you don’t think, that’s why!” Abigail continued as he tuned back in to her rambling for a second. He inhaled slowly and turned away from her once more, lighting his last cigarette and walking towards the edge of camp to sit on a fallen log as he tried to enjoy it.

At some point before the end, Abigail gave up her assault. Realising he really wasn’t listening and storming off no doubt to whine about him to one of the other women.

He exhaled shakily, staring at the burning paper between his fingers and wondering what he had done to deserve his lot in life.

He knew deep down he could chalk it up to all the people he’s killed during his time. But he hadn’t exactly had it fair before he had been brought in to the gang either.

He dropped the butt of his cigarette and stomped it in to the dirt with his boot. Resting his arms on his thighs and then after a while his head in his hands. It felt heavy, full of shattered hopes and dreams that would never come to fruition.

He rolled his hand in to a fist, resting it under his cheek and watching the goings on of the camp for a while before his eyes settled on Abigail. She watched him as well from her perch underneath a lean-to. Her hands paused the work of sewing one of her skirts as she looked at him with contempt. He smiled weakly, feeling that he may cry if he didn’t.

He was just doing his best.

 

~

 

Abigail seethed quietly well in to the afternoon, her disdain for John apparent in every word she spoke towards him.

She had felt bad for him momentarily. When she had asked him how much money he had made she was sure she saw something flash through his eyes. His face twitching in a way that told her she had hurt him.

She wasn’t sure exactly how she had managed that. As far as she was concerned she was supportive of him and his way of life. Her excitement over his return was genuine. She supposed she could have shown it more before she dove right in to asking about the money.

But it had been hard to hide her anger at the fact he had only brought back enough money to cloth the boy and not herself as well. She tried not to think about the fact that John had been wearing the same three outfits since he stopped growing. When she looked at her own ratty skirt and compared herself to the other women of the camp she found it was easy to ignore. She was a woman used to working for herself. Making her own money and buying her own things. It was extremely frustrating to sit back and wait for John to bring in the cash.

Then when he did bring in money, she had to wait until there was enough of it for the things she wanted. Back before she fell pregnant with Jack she could afford new things when she wanted them. She had sacrificed so much to be his Mother.

She had briefly gone back to her old profession after Jack was born to try and bring in some extra cash. She had been very successful at doing so. The downside was having to hide it from John.

When he had found out, he had run off, leaving her alone for an entire year before crawling back and asking for her forgiveness. She often found it ironic that in the end he was the one begging for her to take him back when she was the one that had wronged him.

But she never mentioned it. Choosing instead to lament the fact that he had agreed to take care of her and the boy once he returned on the condition she remained faithful to him.

She sometimes felt as though she had made a huge mistake.

She knew some of the other women were jealous of her. She often heard whispers of how she lived a life of luxury. Basic chores got her fed and clothed. She didn’t have to service the men and she often found herself with nothing left to do. She chose to spend this time reading or playing with Jack.

But in her eyes her life was far from luxurious. She was bored.

She watched John walk in to their tent and sighed as she felt a pang of guilt. He was doing his best for her and she supposed she should be grateful.

She set down her sewing, standing and brushing herself off as she made a bee-line for their tent.

She pushed aside the door flap and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. John turned to look at her, hands buttoning his vest as he stared at her in question. She moved inside, letting the flap fall back and shrouding them both in darkness as John sat on his cot and pulled his boots towards him.

Abigail frowned as she watched him dress. Something about him felt different but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

She watched as he pulled on the first boot and rested its heel on the bed to buckle his spur.

“Did you bathe?” She asked finally, taking in his full appearance and noting the absence of dirt and grime along his arms. His tanned skin contrasted gorgeously with the white dress shirt he was wearing rolled at the elbow and the mustard vest went well with his dark hair.

“Mhmm.” John hummed in reply, lifting his other foot and fiddling with the fastenings as Abigail realised he had also made an effort to wash and brush his unruly hair.

She smiled to herself, taking in the full sight of him and licking her lips as she really took the time to appreciate just how gorgeous he could be.

“Why?” She asked with a chuckle, not able to keep from poking fun at him even while desperately wanting to reinforce his behaviour. “You tryin’ to impress me?” She asked teasingly.

“I’m goin’ out.” John replied shortly, not looking up as he spoke. Abigail’s face fell, an uneasy feeling settling in her gut as she considered the circumstances. There was no way he was heading out on a job looking so primped. Not without lots of planning that she most certainly would have heard spoken of before now.

“Where you goin?” She asked carefully, crossing her arms.

“Out.” John answered, still not looking up.

“Out?” She repeated in exasperation. “Just out?” She asked, hands flying to her hips as she leaned toward him intimidatingly.

“Yeah.” John said simply, finishing his fastening and standing at his full height. “Out.” He repeated, staring her down. She faltered slightly, his steely eyes catching her off guard along with the venom in his voice.

John had never spoken to her like that before. He was always so sweet, almost childlike in his affection for her even when she didn’t deserve it.

She swallowed audibly, glaring angrily when his lips quirked at the sound and he realised his stance has frightened her.

He pushed passed her, holding the tent flap just long enough for himself to walk through before letting it go and holding back a smile as he heard her huff in annoyance and knew it had hit her as she tried to follow.

He stopped walking, turning to look at her and letting his face fall as he studied her for a moment. She was angry and he knew she had a right to be. But somehow he still held out hope she would stop him.

His vague answers should have been enough to let her know he was fed up. He never spoke to her in that manner. Always jumping to answer any question she threw at him. Even when he deserved to keep some things secret. Like his meal earlier. He felt the impulsive need to tell her so she wouldn’t worry.

She stayed silent as they stared one another down. Abigail waiting for an explanation that wasn’t coming and John badly hoping she would ask him not to go.

After another moment of silence John exhaled slowly, blinking a few times before heading for his horse. Letting the crunch of his boots conceal his uneven breathing as he unhitched Old Boy.

He jumped up in to the saddle and turned to Abigail once more, giving her one last look. One last chance to say something, anything that might make him feel as though she wanted him around before he left.

She just stood, arms folded and eyes glaring as he sighed to himself and clicked his tongue to urge the horse forwards. Trying in vain to pretend it didn’t hurt like hell.

 

~

 

 

John hovered nervously outside the saloon. His chest felt heavy and he could feel his heartbeat in his throat. He tried to swallow it down to no avail.

He took a deep breath, pushing through the large double doors and raising a brow at how well they had masked the noise from inside.

Loud piano music played prominently through the excited chatter of the patrons and loud singing of some of the more intoxicated customers.

John slipped inside, leaning against the back wall and watching the crowd for a moment as he took in the atmosphere.

In the dim lights he could make out three or four men dancing on a table at the back, stomping their feet and singing along to the music.

He smiled as the table over balanced, sending them all crashing to the ground and the piano music came to an abrupt halt. Silence fell on the room, no one speaking for a few moments before one of the men that had fallen scrambled to his feet and held up his beer.

“Didn’t spill a drop!” He exclaimed as the saloon erupted in a loud cheer and the music started anew.

John smirked. Maybe finding people willing to talk wouldn’t be as hard as he imagined.

“You came!” Maggie exclaimed excitedly, catching him completely off guard. Her hand clasping his arm as she seemingly came out of nowhere and dominated his attention. He gaped at her, looking between her hand on his arm and her stunning eyes.

“Uh…yeah…” He exhaled, looking away from her intense gaze and swallowing thickly as he pretended to be interested in the rest of the room. To pretend as though he hadn’t been hoping she would be around and recognise him.

“Rowdy bunch.” He commented, gesturing towards the table of men that had righted themselves and continued on as if nothing had happened.

“I told you it’d be fun.” She chuckled, turning to rest her own back against the wall next to him and hooking their arms at the elbows. John looked down at their locked limbs once again and felt his heartbeat speed up. His eyes trailed from her nails lightly grasping his shirt, up to her shoulder and down the graceful slope of her neck to her breasts. Then back up over the profile of her face.

She was wearing more make up than earlier in the day. Her cheeks flushed artificially with pink powder and her lips glinting a ruby red in the dim light.

She was gorgeous.

“They’re the Lester Brothers.” She continued, not noticing his stare. “Too much money not enough sense.” She joked, turning to look up at him and grinning at his nervous smile.

“Your friend didn’t come?” She asked, looking around quickly as John shook his head.

“No… He wasn’t interested.” John explained, leaving out the part where he didn’t actually tell Arthur he was leaving.

“That’s a shame. But I gotta say he didn’t seem the type.” She chuckled, shrugging. John nodded in agreement, words stuck in his throat as he gazed down at her. “Come on!” She urged suddenly, pulling him forwards by the arm. “Let’s get something to drink.” She exclaimed excitedly as she weaved them through the crowd towards the bar.

John halted, his stop making her lurch as she tried to walk forwards with him but was pulled backwards slightly. He apologised as she turned to him with a questioning look.

“I… don’t have any cash.” He admitted, cheeks flushing crimson as he realised his mistake. How the hell did he think he was going to get anyone to talk tonight without liquor to loosen their tongue.

He silently cursed himself for putting all of his money in the box.

Maggie laughed heartily, patting his hand comfortingly as she began to pull him along once more. He followed her, not really understanding what was so funny.

“I work here dumbie.” She giggled as she reached the bar and held up two fingers. The barmaid nodded, giving John a once over before raising a brow at her friend and depositing two shots of whiskey in front of her. Maggie grabbed them both, offering him one before raising the other to her lips. “Booze is free.” She declared with a wink, making him smile sheepishly. She really was stunning.

John took his shot, feeling the burn run all the way down the back of his throat and settle warmly in his stomach. He sighed contently, already feeling a little fuzzy after only one drink. He supposed not eating for several days at a time would do that to a person.

He looked up from his empty glass as Maggie nudged another shot in to his free hand, smiling and laughing at his appreciation as he took the second drink.

He had never in his life drank alcohol he didn’t have to pay for in some capacity.

“You sure are cute.” Maggie chuckled as he grinned dumbly at his two empty shot glasses.

This was going to be an interesting night.

 

~

 

John felt as though maybe he had, had a little too much to drink.

He first started to suspect that might be the case when he hadn’t objected to being dragged in to the middle of a conga line.

Or maybe, he had agreed because feeling the firm curve of Maggie’s hips under his hands was intoxicating on a completely different level. Seeing the way her ass moved as the line shimmied around the room and being able to stare with unabashed blatancy because she could not see him from her position in front. Perfectly fine, unadulterated fun, as they were just sharing a harmless dance with several other people.

He tried not to think too much in to it. Letting himself just enjoy the night for once without latent feelings of guilt trying to bubble to the surface.

He let himself be lead around the room. Meeting new people and chatting with them for as long as Maggie wanted before she lead him off to introduce him to someone else.

Despite his alcohol raddled brain, he did catalogue a lot of information for work purposes. He couldn’t exactly write it all down with pen and paper, so he would have to make do with his memory.

He often used mnemonic devices as a way of remembering things. As dumb as everyone joked he was, he had his own ways of being smarter than each of them.

Even while intoxicated he could use this way of logging information to help him remember what to tell the other’s in the morning.

‘Lester…’

He said to himself mentally, leaning on the table in front of him and staring at the three men staggering about as Maggie explained them to him. More money than they knew what to do with. They had inherited their Dad’s company when he died and used some of the small fortune they had acquired to hire someone to run it for them so they could spend the rest of their time drinking day and night.

They frequented this particular bar on a very regular basis and were basically in a perpetual state of intoxication due to their wealth.

Easily anticipated, drunk and swimming in cash.

Easy to rob, John concluded.

‘Lester…’ John thought again, trying not to squint as he racked his brain for a rhyme. ‘Sounds like pester…’ He continued. ‘Hosea yelled at me to stop pesterin’ him as a kid.’ He added, brain ticking over as he clicked the pieces together. ‘He made Arthur take me fishin’… and the Lester boys own a company that makes fishin’ rods.’ He grinned, proud of himself.

“What are you grinnin’ about?” Maggie asked, her voice sloppy and slurred as she beamed back.

“Oh, nothin’.” John said shyly. “Just figured somethin’ out is all.” He smiled. Maggie raised her brows, biting at her bottom lip as she dipped her head towards him and spoke close to his ear.

“You are one strange man John Marston…” She slurred, the end of her sentence devolving in to laughter that John felt was contagious. He started laughing as well, suddenly feeling euphoric as he really took in his situation. He was chatting with a gorgeous woman that actually found him interesting. He had just gotten a tip that could make him the money he needed to get out of his debt and best of all, the drinks were free.

He stood from his chair and held out his hand. Maggie took it, looking him up and down sceptically as he chuckled wildly. He dragged her with him, pulling her in to the middle of all the dancing couples and twirling her around clumsily. She cackled as they whirled around one another, nothing about what they were doing able to be called dancing.

But John was trying and he was hilariously cute. He pulled her back to him and she curled in to his arms, her back pressing against his front and they both paused momentarily. She could feel John’s heavy breathing against her neck and her hairs stood on end. Her cheeks flushed as a wave of arousal coursed through her.

She turned to him, pulling him away from the middle of the dance floor in to a dark corner of the room. John opened his mouth to question her but she turned suddenly, backing herself against a wall and pulling him towards her sharply.

He stumbled, catching himself on the wall with his arms outstretched and her between them. His breath hitched as he looked down at her, their bodies only inches apart. She stared up at him, lips quirking in to a smile as she snaked her hands around his waist and pulled him flush against her.

His hands instinctively fell to her hips and he breathed heavily as he pressed his forehead against hers. They stared at one another for a long while, eyes so close they were both a bit out of focus. John swallowed, holding his breath as she shifted slightly and he felt his pulsing erection brush against her abdomen. He closed his eyes, biting his lip as she giggled and he knew she had felt it too. He was filled with shame.

She raised a hand to his cheek, running it lightly over his stubble and slowly pulling his face down in line with hers. She hesitated momentarily, their lips only half an inch apart, before pressing toward him. He turned his head, letting her kiss land on his cheek, the very edge of her lips catching the edge of his as he exhaled slowly.

She pulled away, her back pressed hard against the wall as she struggled to put distance between them. He looked down at her remorsefully, her gaze questioning.

“I…” He paused, unsure what to say. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.” He lied, his voice a soft chuckle. “Don’t want to take advantage of you.” He whispered, feeling guilt stab at him for acting the gentleman when he was anything but.

“I can handle my liquor Mr Marston…” She laughed, feeling relief as she realised she hadn’t done anything wrong. She leaned forwards again, trying in vain to catch his lips but he pulled away, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry…” He whispered, an explanation stuck on his tongue. He wanted so badly to let her kiss him. To feel her warmth as he ground against her eagerly. He was extremely aroused and finding it hard to keep pulling away. But he couldn’t stop thinking of Abigail. The look she had given him when he had spoken harshly to her earlier in the afternoon. He loved her so completely and it wasn’t fair to drag this poor woman in to the middle of that. He needed to get back to camp. To talk to her and find out if there was ever any hope of their relationship actually working out.

Maggie watched him in the dim light. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to have deepened since he entered the bar earlier. He was caught in a moment of deep contemplation and she wondered sadly which demons he was currently battling.

“It’s alright…” She replied, startling him back to reality. She smiled at him kindly, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it reassuringly. They shared a look filled with excitement and promise before John took another step back, letting go of her hand and smiling apologetically.

“I have to get back…” He said softly, not offering any further clarification. She nodded in understanding, smiling back despite the twinge of hurt.

“Just make sure you come back and see me at some point…” She said with barely concealed hope. He nodded in agreement.

“Thanks for the drinks…” He said softly, raising his hand in a small wave and slipping away in to the crowd and back out side to find his horse.

He had meant it. He would be back one way or another. He knew it wasn’t right to leave her hanging and hoping he would return only to never hear from him again.

 

~

 

The ride back to camp was long and uncomfortable. John’s erection pressed against his stomach for the entire journey. Every small bump in the road making it slide tantalizingly against his belt and eliciting a small moan from him.

He shifted uncomfortably as he approached the entrance to camp. A familiar tingling in his belly had every hair on his body standing to attention. He was desperate to slip in to the woods and afford himself the very few strokes he would need to finish himself off. He had been essentially edging himself all the way back to camp and he was ready for it to end. He had never been one for orgasm denial.

The shout of the guard made him jump and he answered them with a shaky voice, letting them know it was just him returning. He ignored the raised the brow of question as he passed them, kicking Old Boy in to a trot to make his journey to the hitching post quicker.

He slipped off the horse, readjusting himself to hide his issue before heading towards his tent. He knew he really should take care of himself before returning to his bed but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew if he did he would be thinking of her… Not of his gorgeous wife asleep a few metres away. His gut churned. He didn’t want to be that person. He hadn’t kissed her at the bar and he sure as hell wasn’t going to touch himself to her image.

He pushed in to the tent quietly, his eyes not used to the darkness that shrouded him. He was careful with his footing, never knowing where Jack was going to move his bedroll from one night to another. The last thing he needed right now was to step on the kid.

“John?” Abigail asked softly, catching him off guard. He hadn’t expected her to be awake. Perhaps he had awoken her with his heavy, drunken footsteps.

“Yeah… It’s me…” He answered, unsure what to say to her as he felt around for his bed. He wasn’t sure if she was still mad at him.

“Wasn’t sure you were comin’ home…” She said softly her whisper carrying in the silence of the night. John squinted, making out her shape in the darkness. She was lying on her side on her cot, propped up on her arm. He felt a pang of guilt stab at him as he realised she had been waiting up for him.

“I always come home…” He whispered back in to the darkness, sitting down on his cot and fumbling with the lantern sitting on the upturned packing crate he used as a bedside table. He lit it, letting it completely light up the room briefly before turning it down to the dimmest setting. He turned back to Abigail, gasping as he took in the sight of her.

She was completely naked, one leg draped over the other seductively and her free arm resting against the curve of her hip. Her hair fell down over her shoulders and framed her exposed breasts. She smiled at his shock, bringing her hand to her face and licking two of her fingers slowly.

She parted her legs. His eyes following as she moved. One leg lay against the mattress while the other was upright, bent at the knee with her foot bracing herself against the cot as she tilted her hips forward slightly. Her slicked fingers coming to rest in her curls as she pressed them against her clit. She began to move them in small circles, a moan escaping her as she bit her lip in an effort to stifle it.

“Wha…” John breathed, he couldn’t form a coherent word, let alone a full sentence. “Where… Where is…” He tried again, cutting himself off as Abigail moaned again, louder this time.

“Jack is havin’ a sleep over with some of the other women.” She answered his unasked question, sliding her hand down between her folds and pressing them in to herself seductively slow. John nodded, not taking his eyes off her hand as she moved her digits in and out, her breathing becoming laboured as she pulled herself closer to climax. His eyes on her exciting her more than she had anticipated.

It had been a long time since she had put on a show for anyone. John swallowed audibly, shifting his hips uncomfortably as his hard length throbbed painfully against his clothing.

“Aren’t you gonna join me?” Abigail asked finally, pulling her hand away from herself and resting it on her hip. John opened his mouth, unsure how to reply and she giggled at the fact he somehow managed to look even more shocked than before.

“Really?” He asked hopefully, the tone of his voice letting her know it was a serious question. She frowned slightly before pulling her happy facade back in place. Did he really think he wasn’t invited to join this party? Had it truly been so long that he would question whether or not he was allowed to touch her when she was putting on such a blatant display.

“Really…” She answered back softly, holding out her hand for him to take. He reached for her shakily, clasping her soft hand in his large calloused hold and letting her pull him across the tent to sit on the edge of her cot.

He quickly undid the fastenings on his boots, kicking them off and pushing them under his bed with his feet.

Abigail let go of him, hand coming up to stroke lightly down his broad chest over the mustard yellow vest that somehow managed to accentuate his dark eyes. He followed her hand with those eyes, glancing up at her a few times as she began working on the buttons. As if he couldn’t believe this was real.

She sat up, leaning on her hip with her legs to the side as she used both her hands to push the vest down off his shoulders. He dipped them one at a time to help her and she felt his hands ghost ever so lightly over her sides. As if he was afraid to touch her.

She encouraged him with a small nod, dipping her head to catch his eyes. He stared at her, licking his lips unconsciously as his hands came to rest on her hips. He squeezed gently and she let out a satisfied noise that had his cock straining impossibly hard against his fly.

She let her hands fall on his pecks, feeling the firm muscles underneath the fabric and frowning to herself when she moved further down and realised she could feel his ribs. He was thinner than the last time she had touched him. She wondered absently if it was her fault somehow.

He leaned forwards, resting his forehead on her shoulder and closing his eyes against the spinning of the room. He was still intoxicated and he knew she could smell it on his breath. He was overwhelmed by his night so far and needed to take a second to think.

This was so out of character for Abigail. He squeezed her hips again gently as she began unbuttoning his shirt. He wondered if she knew.

She pushed against his bare chest lightly and he sat up, letting go of her to allow her to remove his shirt fully. He swallowed noticeably in the silence of the tent, feeling the familiar niggle of self-consciousness hone in on him as she sat back and looked him over.

“You’re so handsome.” She whispered, making him flush. He averted his eyes, hands in his lap as he waited for her to give him instruction. He was beyond grateful that he hadn’t relieved himself on the way back to camp. He was so close to letting himself get in to it. Grinding in his saddle and painting the inside of his trousers with cum.

He wasn’t sure how he would have explained that to her.

Abigail slipped her legs off the side of the bed. Standing and surprising him as she walked around the cot and pushed him back so he had a good steady seat and wasn’t resting on the edge anymore. When she was satisfied he was anchored she straddled him, gorgeous legs either side of his thighs as she rested her wet heat against his fly. Her arms hooked around his neck and she leaned in to kiss him hard. Her tongue pressing insistently against his lips until he parted them and let her delve deeply. He groaned loudly once as she began to move her hips.

She ground against him, making him whine in to the kiss as his hips jutted up to meet her. She could feel how hard he was, smiling in to the kiss as he struggled to contain the groans repeatedly catching in his throat.

She reached in between them, pausing her movements to release him from his pants. He was ridiculously wet for such a short amount of foreplay. Although this didn’t register as weird to her considering how long it had been since she had touched him.

She pushed his chest back, encouraging him to rest on his elbows as she worked the wetness around his cock, slicking it for what she had planned next.

John held his breath as she moved. Expecting her to sheath him inside herself but blinking in question as she sat herself on top of his straining dick and pressing it against his belly with her folds.

She began to move, letting him glide gloriously along her lips and clit as she thrust towards him in a grinding motion. He mewled softly, lip trembling as she pulled back, his dick rising against her as she put pressure on the base. She pressed forwards again, moaning open mouthed as she crushed him against his stomach. She pushed back as she reached the tip, letting it fall against her entrance and holding it there for a second or two before ever so slightly pushing against him. He moaned loudly as she engulfed his head briefly, pulling back and letting in fall out of her as fast as it had happened. He whined at the loss of contact and she sushed him with a hand over his mouth as she began to keen against him once more.

John watched as his cock slipped in and out of view, her folds rubbing deliciously against the large vein on his underside and making his thighs shake. He was so close already. The second she had touched him a fire had ignited in his belly. All of the heat from before he had returned to camp coming back to him full force and pushing him embarrassingly close to climax.

Abigail wasn’t aware that John’s erection lingered from other activities earlier in the night. But she knew her husband and one thing she could be certain of was that he was a quick draw. She rubbed against him harder, faster, moaning his name noisily as she pushed him closer to orgasm. She knew he was close, the way his stomach clenched under her, the feeling of his trembling lip against her hand. His eyes were on her breasts as they bounced along with her. He was gasping and groaning, still entirely too loud for where they were situated. But she let him continue, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer and then the real fun could begin.

She leaned forwards, moving her hand away from his mouth and bracing herself on his shoulders as she kissed him hard. She spread her legs further apart so she was still pressing against him and ceased her movements, letting him control the pace as he ground up against her. His eyes were screwed shut and his breathing laboured as she moaned in to the kiss. He thrust up powerfully, hard and jutting as the thread he had been dangling from snapped and a rush of pleasure spread through his loins and outwards, consuming his entire body. A strangled groan left him as he came, hard. Cum shooting across his stomach as he breathed raggedly against her mouth.

As his orgasm subsided he began to feel sheepish, shame bubbling inside him as he opened his eyes to look in to hers. He had never been any good at holding back. He was embarrassingly easy to get off and it was something he had always been ashamed of.

But Abigail knew this. She liked this fact and despite her intimidating exterior majority of the time she always made sure to let him know it was okay. She always made sure he came once before sex if she was expecting it to last.

It was by way of apology for her comment all those years ago that had hurt him so deeply.

John looked up at her guiltily, the flush on his cheeks deepening the longer she stared at him. He cleared his throat awkwardly, sitting up and catching her with his hands on her back before she could fall.

“Thanks…” He said quietly, avoiding her gaze as he waited for her to move off of him. They sat like that for a while before he finally looked up, questioning her without speaking and desperately asking for her to clarify what the hell was happening.

Abigail sighed at the sight of him. His dark eyes were full of sadness despite the fun they had just had. She lifted a hand to his face, stroking lightly over his cheek and leaning down to kiss him softly. He kissed back hungrily, frantically.

She ran her hands through his clean hair, finger pads pressing against his scalp in a massaging motion as she tried to reassure him everything was okay.

“Come here.” She ordered, pulling away and moving off him. She laid back on the cot and encouraged him to follow, holding out her arm and motioning for him to rest his head there. He did as instructed, lying next to her so they were facing one another with his head pillowed on her arm. She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him and holding him to her breast as her hands ran lightly over his back. He sighed contently, face pressing against her chest as his own arm slid over her waist.

They laid still for a long time. John struggled not to dose off. He hadn’t felt so warm and safe in years.

Abigail tilted his chin upwards when she felt him begin to go slack. He blinked opening his eyes and observing her from under heavy lids. She leaned in and kissed him leisurely, sensually. His hand tightened against her back as she moved their lips together in a long slow kiss laced with love. He moaned so softly she felt it rather than heard it. His cock beginning to liven against her hip as they continued to kiss, both breathing through their noses and not parting for several minutes.

John went with the flow, his sleep addled brain barely able to comprehend the situation as her hand made its way in between them to stroke him gently. His mind was fuzzy and his chest warm. It was like a pleasant dream he didn’t want to wake from.

Abigail slowly moved one of her legs to rest atop his hip, tilting her hips and positioning him at her entrance. She wiped at his stomach, using his cum as lube to slick him before delving downwards and letting herself take him fully. John gasped, moving his hand to her hip and holding her in place as he pressed forward experimentally. She felt amazing, her wetness milking him as he slowly pulled back and pressed forward again. He rested his face against her breast where it had been previously and began thrusting in a slow, steady rhythm that would have them lasting hours. Abigail moaned as his head brushed against her sweet spot and John’s breath hitched at the sound. He moved his hand from her hip, feeling down her stomach and to her mound. His thumb came to nestle gently in her curls as he pressed it against her clit. He moved in small circles as he had seen her do earlier and she cried out in response, bucking towards him and making him shake.

He kept his eyes closed, too scared that if he opened them this would all be a dream. He continued to work her clit tantalizingly slow as he thrust in to her at a similar pace. They stayed like this for some time, both of them very slowly edging towards climax. It was the opposite of a race. Both of them content to slowly fuck forever. Both holding back. Both desperately trying to not be the first to topple over the edge.

Abigail felt the heat in her abdomen begin to spread and she whined lazily. John felt it in her chest against his forehead. He reluctantly picked up the face of his thumb, his overwhelming need to please her outweighing his own want for this to never end.

He pressed his palm against her bladder as he changed the angle of his hips and increased the rhythm of his thrusts so he was hitting against her exactly right with each movement. Abigail began to moan loudly, her breathing erratic as her thighs began to shake. Her nails raked deep lines in to his back and he felt rather than heard himself groan as she bucked against him, meeting everyone one of his thrusts. She cried out, his name leaving her as she came hard against his hand. Head thrown back and spine arching as pleasure shot through her in a way she hadn’t felt in months.

“Fuck… John…” She breathed as she began to come down from her high, her own thrusts ceasing as he continued on in search of his own release. “Fuck…” She whispered. “I love you…”

John cried out through gritted teeth, his eyes screwed shut against her breast as he came for the second time. Thrusting in to her hard and pausing as he spilled himself deep inside her.

He was trembling all over, his body spent and his mind cloudy as he replayed her words over and over. He slowed his breathing involuntarily, sleep threatening to over take him any second as he pulled away from her to catch some fresh air, head lolling heavily backwards. She placed one of her hands on the back of his head, pushing him back against her after he had taken a few deep breaths and running her hands through his hair soothingly. She let him lie there, still inside her as sleep took him surprisingly fast.

She pat him lightly, feeling content with a job well done as he began to snore softly and she knew he was out to the world.

 

~

 

John awoke feeling surprisingly sore. He couldn’t put his finger on why as he slowly blinked the dark green canvas of his tent roof in to his view.

He looked around him leisurely, frowning as he realised he was alone and trying hard to remember what the fuck had happened the night before.

He suddenly opened his eyes wide. Flashes of himself pressed against Maggie making his stomach churn as he scrambled to get his bearings. He was definitely in his tent at camp and  he knew he never would have brought her here no matter how much he had to drink.

He relaxed slightly, letting himself fall back against the pillow and thinking hard on what had happened after that. He remembered now, telling her he had to go. The disappointment on her face had been plain to see and he felt guilty just remembering.

He pressed onwards, cheeks flushing as he remembered softly grinding against his own belt on the ride back to camp. He looked down, suddenly realising he was still wearing his pants. He gasped softly as he noticed the dried cum on his stomach and looked around him once again to make sure he was definitely alone.

He must have relieved himself when he got back to camp. He groaned, rubbing his hand against his face as shame filled every inch of him. He knew he was loud when touched himself and there was no way in hell his drunken self didn’t wake Abigail as he shamelessly fucked his own hand.

‘Abigail…’

He thought suddenly, looking to the cot next to him and realising it was made neatly. Perhaps she hadn’t been here when he came back. Or perhaps she had and she was so livid with his blatant behaviour that she had finally packed up and left him.

He stared at the bed for a while, something not feeling quite right about it before he admonished himself for not realising earlier. It was his own bed he was staring at, not Abigail’s.

Suddenly, like a bolt of lightening he was assaulted with an onslaught of memories that would make even the cheapest whore blush. He sat upright, clambering to find his shirt and shoving it over his shoulders roughly. He stood, making sure his morning wood was tucked away as he pushed passed the doorway of the tent and in to the bright sunlight of the mid morning. He haphazardly buttoned his shirt as he walked, eyes squinting in the brightness of the morning, searching desperately for any sign of her.

He spotted her by the opposite side of camp, kneeling down and speaking to Jack in a way that told John the boy was in trouble. He pushed forwards, ignoring the murmurs of other gang members as they took in his dishevelled appearance. They leaned towards one another, whispering conspiratorially and giggling aloud as he passed.

He knew then that he definitely was loud the night before.

“Abigail.” He said hurriedly as he approached her, making her look up from Jack. He frowned as she barely contained a smile. He was quite the sight. Hair everywhere, messed up and out at all angles on one side of his head and his shirt buttoned wrong. One sleeve was rolled while the other was left to hang loosely around his wrist.

“Run along Jack.” She said softly, petting the boy on the shoulder and standing to meet John as he reached her. “Good mornin’.” She said mirthfully, crossing her arms as he stopped right in front of her. He was so close.

‘Too close really.’ She thought to herself as he gazed down at her with hopefully eyes. She looked up at him, raising her brows in question as he stared, not able to speak.

“You okay John?” She asked after a while, smiling awkwardly and tilting her head to try and encourage him to spit out whatever he wanted to say.

“You love me?” He asked softly, barely a sound as he whispered his question. He swallowed, wondering if she had even heard him. Part of him hoping she hadn’t because then if she didn’t answer he could chalk it up to miscommunication. Abigail frowned again, looking him up and down, not noticing how his hands trembled by his side as he waited for her answer.

“O’ course…” She replied finally, shaking her head as he closed the last inches of distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. His hands fisted in her coat and he rested his face in her hair as a deep sense of relief filled him. Warmth spreading from his chest to the rest of his body as he calmed his ragged breathing and buckled down hard to swallow his emotions as they threatened to bubble to the surface.

“I love you…” He said in to her hair as she wrapped her own arms around his back.

“I know…” She replied slowly, a flush spreading across her cheeks as she registered how many other members of the gang were unashamedly staring in their direction.

She pushed him away quickly, hand coming to rest on his bicep and squeezing reassuringly as he made a sound in protest, eyes flashing with hurt at how fast she had shoved him.

“Just… Go get yourself cleaned up. You look a sorry sight.” She explained quietly, making him blush. He nodded, turning away from her and heading back towards their tent to freshen up.

She was right. He definitely needed to straighten himself up. Besides, he needed to head in to town soon anyway.

 

~

 

John had only made it half way to Old Boy before Arthur had come up on him and asked him where the hell he was going. John had tried to fob him off, wanting to go in to town alone and take care of his business. But Arthur had had other plans.

They rode in silence. John stewing on the fact that the other man was treating him like a kid that needed a chaperone and Arthur lamenting the fact that John had somehow snuck out of camp the night before without him noticing.

John pushed aside the small part of himself that conceded he had indeed acted like a child the night before. Choosing instead to let Arthur’s presence bruise his ego and ignore the fact he had been galivanting around town with a woman that wasn’t his wife.

“You’re goin’ to see her aren’t you?” Arthur asked as they approached the outskirts of town. John didn’t answer, digging his heels harder in to Old Boy’s side and speeding up to get away from Arthur’s condescending stare.

He heard Arthur sigh behind him and knew without looking he was shaking his head in disapproval.

“Look John…” He began, trailing off and rethinking his words before speaking again. “Just… do the right thing okay?” He asked, watching as the younger man’s shoulder’s tensed at the statement.

“I am.” John replied defensively, staring straight ahead as he rode onwards towards the saloon.

Arthur veered off, as they reached the main street, telling John he was going to the gunsmith and letting the younger man have his privacy. John was grateful although part of him did wish that just this once Arthur would follow him so he could see him do the right thing and know how hard he was trying to be a better man.

He entered the saloon and felt a chill at the eerie silence that followed him. The liveliness of the night before was completely absent, with just the whistle of the wind outside and the clinking of classes as ambiance.

He approached the bar slowly, hands fisting by his side as he stood next to the wooden slab and waited for Maggie to notice him. Her hair was down today, golden locks cascading down her back in light curls as she busied herself washing glasses from the night before. Her corset top was a deep red that faded in to black as it reached her skirt. He wet his lips, taking in the full sight of her and wondering for the last time if he was sure he wanted to give her up.

He thought back to the night before and how much fun he had had with her. The laughter, the dancing. In retrospect he supposed that was why he was so sore. He laughed softly, looking down at his boots as he remembered their drunken stumbling.

His huff caught her attention and she turned in surprise, her face breaking out in to an excited grin as she realised it was him. He looked up at her, the smile on his own face fading slightly as he realised how hard he was about to hurt her.

He thought back to Abigail. The sounds of her languid moans making blood rush to his cock as he remembered the way she had cried out that she loved him.

He needed to do this. It was what was best for everyone involved.

“Hi…” He said shyly. “Mind if we talk?” He asked, gesturing with his head to the doors he had just entered through. She nodded eagerly, drying her hands on a cloth and shouting out to someone in the back room that she would be gone for a moment.

She walked around the bar and John groaned inwardly as he looked over her pretty legs. She had her long skirt tied at the front so it lifted just above her knees and her heeled black boots rode up her entire calf. She looked magnificent.

He held out his arm, feeling guilty for acting as though things were fine as she hooked her arm around his and he lead her outside.

She jumped him the second the doors had closed. Her arms hooking around his neck and lips on his before he could stop it. He kept his arms by his side, standing stock still as she kissed him softly. He didn’t kiss back. It took the entirety of his self control.

She pulled away, frowning in question and pursing her lips when he looked down at her with sad eyes.

“What’s wrong?” She asked after a moment, her own eyes flashing with hurt as she stared up at him with barely concealed hope and admiration.

He sighed, leaning forwards and resting his forehead against hers as he had done the night before. His hands came to her waist and he squeezed lightly. He closed his eyes, trying to think of how to say his part. He had never had to do this before. It was usually him on the receiving end of rejection. He knew how much it was going to hurt and part of him wanted to just not say anything. To pretend he had just been deep in thought and kiss her back with a passion he wasn’t sure he actually possessed.

“I… I’m married…” He whispered, keeping his eyes shut to block out the pain he knew he would see on her face.

She took a step back, arms falling away from him as she looked up at him in shock.

“What…?” She asked, voice soft but tone begging him to clarify.

“I’m married.” He repeated, opening his eyes when he felt her move away. He stared down at her with glassy eyes full of regret. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, licking his lips as he watched the beginnings of tears form in the corners of her eyes.

“So… what?” She asked incredulously. “This was a con?” She asked, voice laced with hurt as she crossed her arms defensively. “You take me out, let me fill you with free drinks…” She said angrily. “Show me a good time and get all the information you want before lettin’ me know you can’t continue on with this…” She cried, inhaling in small huffs as she willed away her tears.

“No!” John exclaimed, taking a step forwards and closing the distance between them once more. He placed his hands on her biceps and held her in place as she tried to move away. He looked in to her eyes, willing her to understand. “It weren’t nothin’ like that.” He said earnestly. “Not at all… It’s just…”

“Just… you love your wife is all?” She asked crossly, pulling out of his grip and turning away. John stayed silent, he didn’t have an argument. Her statement was exactly correct.

“You didn’t seem to love her much last night.” She spat when he didn’t reply. John swallowed, taking a deep breath and trying to console her.

“I think you’re amazin’…” He whispered, hands running nervously along his thighs as he spoke. “I truly do…”

“But… Your wife… The one you ain’t normally care about. She’s more amazin’?” Maggie asked sarcastically.

“But…” John continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “If there’s a chance for me and my wife. I gotta take it…” He explained, grief seeping in to his tone.

He didn’t want to her hurt. Part of him also didn’t want to let her go. But Abigail had said those words. Those three glorious words she had only uttered to him once before. The words he had been waiting over a year to hear her say again and he felt this time she truly meant them.

He needed to do right by her. He needed to end this before it went any further. Before she found out and took it all back.

He couldn’t sit around wondering what he had done to deserve his lot in life openly knowing he had been the one to fuck it all up.

Maggie squinted her eyes, looking him over. He felt exposed as she judged him freely.

“Why?” She finally asked, wiping at her eyes smudging her eye make up across her cheek without realising. “Why did you wait until now to decide you loved her? Why not last night, before…” She trailed off. They hadn’t really done anything scandalous. He had moved away from her kiss. But she had certainly felt his arousal through his clothes. He couldn’t pretend there was nothing between them.

John took a deep breath.

“I’ve always loved her…” He said softly, earning himself a raised brow. He supposed it was fair of her to be sceptical. He hadn’t exactly acted like a man that loved his wife the night before. “She… She ain’t always loved me though.” He tried to explain, making her shake her head. He never was good with words. He couldn’t tell her their entire history in one conversation. It was too long and exhausting. He would have to settle with that, hoping she could find it in her heart to forgive him one day.

“So what makes you think she loves you now?” Maggie asked, catching him off guard as he was prepared for her to walk away. He stuttered in reply, unsure really how to answer.

“She… She told me.” He said finally, shrugging slightly as she chuckled and shook her head. “What?” He asked after a moment of listening to her laughter. He couldn’t figure out what was funny.

“Ahh…” She exhaled a loud sigh, smiling as she continued to shake her head at him. “Nothin’…” She sniffed. “Nothin’… Just enjoy your life John Marston.” She spat. “Your wife is a lucky woman.” She said sarcastically.

“She may not be a lucky woman but I’m a lucky man.” John replied, annoyance in his tone. He didn’t much like being laughed at even if he did deserve it.

“You say your friends all think you the dumbest of the lot?” She asked as she turned to walk away. John bristled, he wasn’t being dumb. For once in his life he was doing the right thing. He ignored her question and she sighed, continuing when he didn’t answer. “This woman that ain’t loved you ‘til now…” She began. “How do you think it would be proper for her to act after you come home smellin’ of whisky and another woman?” She asked, making John balk.

“I ain’t never come home smellin’ like another woman.” John said softly, hands falling on his gun belt as he glared at her.

“Oh but you did John.” She laughed, waving her hand over herself in a gesture that suggested she was talking about herself. “Last night. Right before that wife of yours told you she loved you.” She enlightened.

“It were unrelated.” John growled. “She was already waitin’ for me when I got back.”

Maggie nodded, sniffing to herself as she held back a proper chuckle.

“You believe that for as long as you’re able.” She said in reply. Softer, kinder. She turned fully, walking back inside the saloon and letting the door slam shut behind her. He watched her go, a frown on his face as he tried to understand what the hell had just happened.

 

~

 

“She loves me.” John said softly, so softly Arthur wasn’t sure he’d actually heard it.

“What?” He asked, turning back to look at John as they’re horses hooves padded softly across the path back to camp.

“She loves me.” John smiled sheepishly, a blush spreading steadily across his cheeks as he stared down at Old Boy’s mane. “Abigail.” He clarified, looking up.

“O’ course she does.” Arthur replied, feeling a weird sense of deja’ vu sweep over him as their conversation echoed the one they had had the morning before on their way home.

He wasn’t sure what it was about this road that made John want to share his feelings. But he would listen without making a big deal out of them as long as the younger man felt safe in talking to him.

“No but I mean she said it.” John explained, in a way that told Arthur this was a huge deal to him.

“Don’t she always say it?” Arthur asked after a moments contemplation. He watched John’s face fall slightly and decided to rephrase his question. “I mean… When did she say it?” He asked.

“Last night. When I got back to camp.” John answered, confused by Arthur’s weird moment of indecisiveness. “Why?” He asked after a second. Feeling like maybe he had misunderstood something.

“No reason. You’re the one tellin’ the story.” Arthur replied, annoyed. “I guess I just don’t see the fuss over your wife tellin’ you she loves you.” He said laughed, turning back to the other man and feeling a weird sense of sadness wash over him as he took in John’s expression.

John shifted uncomfortably under Arthur’s gaze, looking away. Arthur frowned again, watching the younger man’s posture change and thinking back on his own experience from the night before.

“But she’s said it to you before?” Arthur asked, his tone more urgent than John felt was needed in this situation. The younger man shrugged, still not looking up. “Once. Bought a year ago.” He said so quietly Arthur had to strain to hear over the snort of the horses. “That day that…” John trailed off, clearing his throat. “That day… At the river.” He said softly, leaving everything else unsaid. They hadn’t spoken about that day since.

Arthur nodded, feeling dread settle in his gut as he started to put pieces together that John couldn’t see.

Abigail had been distraught the night before after John had rode out of camp. Arthur had, in a moment of drunken weakness, blurted out that John was probably headed to the local tavern. He had laughed through his explanation of what had happened earlier in the day. Painting the picture of John stroking his own ego over a woman that was not interested in him and leaving out the important detail that from where Arthur was standing he could tell she was very much interested.

He had assured Abigail that John was probably just going back to the saloon to scope out tips for work but he hadn’t been entirely sure himself and he had regretted opening his stupid mouth at all. Abigail hadn’t seemed satisfied with that but she had bid him goodnight none the less and he had promptly forgotten about the interaction until this morning.

John _had_ been scoping out tips at the saloon the night before. He was excited to tell Arthur about the Lester Boys and their piles of cash bigger than their common sense. Arthur had been relatively proud of the younger man momentarily. Until he had seen him on his way to saddle up Old Boy not half an hour later and he knew from the antsy way he glanced around him as he walked that he was on his way to do something stupid.

Arthur looked over to John who had been studying him during his silence. He smiled meekly as he realised what must have happened the night before. Abigail had told John she loved him in a feeble attempt to keep him around. If it was anyone else but Marston it may not have worked. But that kid had been starved of love from the moment they found him hanging from his neck at the age of 12.

Starved of affection and dumb as a post. He also for the most part, saw the good in people. He looked passed their transgressions, their peculiarities, their profession and saw the person inside for what they were worth despite everything else. As Hosea had put it:

“John is exactly the type to fall in love with a whore.”

Arthur heard Hosea’s voice echoing in his head as he thought.

“Shit.” He muttered.

 

~

 

It had been an hour or two since their return to camp and John was feeling good about his decision. He wondered somewhere deep inside if he should tell Abigail about what had transpired. But he pushed it away to the back of his mind. He was scared of the repercussions.

He hadn’t really done anything wrong. He justified as he thought back on the night before. He had turned away from her kiss and the only reason she had caught him this morning was because his mind was else ware. He would hate to have Abigail question his fidelity and he wasn’t sure he could handle being called a hypocrite over a chaste peck when it was being compared to outright adultery on Abigail’s part.

That was how he justified his silence on the matter anyway. Maybe one day he would tell her and they could laugh about it together. But right now their bond was too fresh and he wasn’t prepared to lose it over a kiss.

He slammed the axe he was holding down in to the cut off stump hard enough for it to sit on it’s blade and stood back to take a breather. He had been chopping wood for what felt like hours at this point. He may have finally paid his share in to the camp box but that didn’t absolve him of his chores.

He wiped at his brow with the back of his hand, feeling beaded sweat slip away from his warm forehead. He gathered the wood he had chopped and deposited it by Pearson’s cart. The older man thanked him, pointing across the way to some large sacks of corn and asking if he could please use his spry young legs to bring them over for him. John agreed with a polite smile; letting it fall as he turned is back and headed towards the corn.

The woodpile had been the last of his chores. He was sore and achy and just wanted to lie down after the rollercoaster of a day he had experienced. Not to mention the ever-present migraine and mild nausea that came as a free prize with every night of drinking.

He hauled one of the sacks on to his shoulder, stumbling slightly under the weight of it. He was strong for his size. But his size was lacking compared to some of the other men in the camp. Although he never let that stop him from doing all of the same things. He had been hauling bags of corn since he was a kid. Eager to prove he could do anything and everything Arthur could.

The older man had of course let him and John had been proud of his contribution. Until he reached adulthood and realised with a tinge of embarrassment that Arthur had just been patronizing John so he would do his chores for him.

He dumped the corn sack on the ground next to the cart and nodded at Pearson as he tried to leave. The older man pointed back towards where John had just come from and explained he would need the second bag.

John supressed a sigh, heading back over to the edge of camp and leaning down to pick up the second bag.

He paused at the sound of his name, muffled by the brush covering the tree line. He squinted, holding a hand over his brow to shade his vision.

He realised he could Abigail standing against a tree in the forest. She had her back to him, one side of her exposed as she leant lazily against the trunk. Karen stood on the other side, also leaning against the tree with one side of her body exposed. They looked to be enjoying a smoke together and having a friendly chat.

John frowned. Abigail often complained about the other women in the camp and how she didn’t really get along with any of them. It was weird to see her being chummy with one of the working girls.

He abandoned his chore, sneaking closer to the edge of the woods and leaning against his own tree once he thought he was close enough to hear their conversation. They were only a metre or so inside the forest. Abigail had probably hidden there to smoke out of Jack’s view.

John heard his name again and strained to hear what was being said. He took a few more steps forward out in to the open, still several metres away from the beginnings of the forest but now able to hear them clearly.

“So what did you do?” Karen laughed, shoulders shaking as she grinned against the paper of her smoke. “How you gonna keep him around?” She asked with a sneer.

Abigail chuckled in return, her own shoulder shaking at the question.

“Oh I don’t got to worry about that.” She sniggered, shaking her head. “He ain’t goin’ no where.”

“How you so sure?” Karen asked, mirth in her tone as she looked the other woman over in disbelief. She knew Abigail had been a working girl at some point in her life. But she had never seen this side of her before. She was starting to think maybe she could really like her.

“I took care of that when he came back to camp.” Abigail explained, raising her arms above her head and stretching languidly.

“Oh yeah?” Karen asked.

“Yeah…” Abigail replied softly. “I fucked him. Told him I love him.” She smirked, the word love, long and exaggerated in a mocking manner. “He was weak in the knees.” She continued with a laugh. “Ain’t thought about that other girl since I bet.” She chuckled, taking a long drag of her cigarette.

John swallowed thickly, a sick feeling rising in his throat as he listened to her speaking. She had no idea he was there, that much was clear.

“John?” Arthur asked from a few feet away, catching his attention briefly. He had spent the better part of the afternoon stewing on what John had told him and finally come to the conclusion he needed to speak with him about what he had said to Abigail the night before.

John looked over at Arthur as the other man made his way to him and then quickly back to Abigail as he heard Karen ask the question John had wanted an answer to for too many years now.

“But you do love him don’t you?” She asked casually, taking a drag on her own cigarette and letting it out in a long slow breath.

John’s world slowed down as he watched Abigail for a response. She was still for far too long. Two seconds felt like hours in his world as he watched and waited, everything inside him pulled taught as if everything he had ever lived through had come down to this one moment in time.

“John?” Arthur asked as he reached him, touching the other man’s arm fleetingly.

John’s head snapped away from Abigail involuntarily at the touch. He looked at Arthur for the briefest moment before snapping his attention back to his wife in time to see her shrug. She hadn’t spoken. Not that he had heard.

He felt something inside himself snap. He watched her with frown on his face and a feeling in his chest he had never felt before. He couldn’t describe it if he tried.

When he thought back on it. The closest he could come to was somewhere between grief and betrayal. The kind of desperate despair that drowned you if you didn’t have someone to pull you back out of the darkness.

He stood dumbly, overly aware of his gangly limbs and thin frame as he unconsciously rang his hands together while he thought. He’d never felt quite so self-conscious in all his life. He felt so damn stupid. He felt like the fool everyone always said he was. He pursed his lips in an effort to keep them from trembling as he stared at Abigail’s back.

“John?” Arthur repeated for the third time, looking the other man up and down.

John looked up at him with misty eyes, face broken, unable to really show any emotion in the midst of this foreign feeling.

Arthur frowned, lifting an arm and intending to take hold of the younger’s shoulder but he shrugged away right as fingers brushed his coat. John took a step back, hand coming up to grasp where Arthur had touched him as though he had been burned. He stared at his brother, eyes pleading for him to understand.

Just once.

Please?

But there was no recognition in the blonde’s expression. No hint of realization that would allow John the freedom to not feel the way he felt in that moment.

Alone...

He realized, with a stuttered inhale. The one person in his life that was supposed to love him above all else, til death do they part; had admitted that they did not. The rest of the world didn’t understand or care and if they did it was only long enough to damn his existence and shackle him to her with their judgement and the reminder that he Fathered her child.

He looked at Arthur, sadness clouding his dark eyes as he began to back away. Even if he could form the words to try and tell him, he couldn’t hear the response right now. He couldn’t be told he had misheard. He misunderstood. He was being stupid. He didn’t have the emotional strength to be told it was his fault somehow.

“Sorry...” He managed. It was strangled and full of emotion but it was a word. An apology for his strange behaviour and the fact that he knew deep down Arthur didn’t understand it.

Arthur looked towards the trees where John kept glancing and realised he could see one side of Abigail’s back sticking out from behind one of the trunks. He could hear her talking in hushed tones with Karen. Their voices not quite quiet enough to completely hide what they were speaking about from the people around them.

“Well at least he’s cute.” Karen was saying, an air of humour to her tone. Abigail laughed at that, throwing her head back before nodding in agreement.

“I guess.” She smiled, dropping the butt of her cig on the ground and stopping it out with her boot. Arthur looked back to John and realised he had left. He looked around him quickly for his brother’s retreating back but it was nowhere in sight.

“Shit.” He mumbled to himself again.

 

~

 

Abigail thanked Karen for the light conversation and excused herself to go and see how Jack was coming along with his reading lessons.

She didn’t often talk to the other women of the camp and there was a good reason for it. She didn’t feel herself when she spoke with them. She felt as though she had to be someone else. The woman she was before Jack. Before John.

She couldn’t relate to the working women anymore. They lived free of the burden of a husband and child. They laughed together about their clients, sharing secrets of bizarre fetishes and fawning over the men that took the time to make them cum.

She couldn’t join in to those conversations as a married woman. It wouldn’t be fair to John to expose him like that. She felt she couldn’t be herself. She couldn’t talk about her financial worries. Or how Jack had finally stopped having accidents at night and how proud she was. The fact that John had been sweet enough to bring her home flowers from one of his jobs. None of those things registered as interesting to the other girls.

She had to be someone else entirely. Someone devoid of loving emotion and full of resentment towards her lot in life.

She didn’t care for it. She wasn’t a nasty person. But she acted like it when she spoke to the women and she couldn’t help herself. She was a strong independent woman before she fell pregnant. She couldn’t stand the thought of them thinking she was weak.

When Karen had casually joined her on her secret smoke break she hadn’t really had anything to talk to her about. They chatted about mundane things and Abigail felt she could physically feel Karen losing interest with the conversation. Until the other woman had coolly remarked that she noticed Jack had slept in Tilly’s tent the night before and Abigail honestly felt herself flush for the first time in a long while.

Karen had been extremely interested when Abigail appeared to be flustered. Assuming as most would that the heated cheeks were spurred on by memories of her erotic night time activities.

She was partly right. Abigail supposed as she tucked her book of matches in to one of her pockets and straightened her shirt. She had really enjoyed her night with John. But despite that, she couldn’t seem to keep herself from mentioning to Karen what Arthur had told her by the fire.

She didn’t know why she always acted that way. Why she couldn’t just admit her love to John without it being a huge ordeal. Why she felt the need to tell Karen the entire sordid tale instead of just accepting the fact that she had fucked John because she wanted to and with no huge ulterior motive.

She supposed all her years as a working girl had in a way, caused her to have issues with commitment.

Perhaps not commitment in and of itself. But forced commitment to someone she had never intended to wed. She didn’t have a bond with him before they were forced in to their current relationship and she hadn’t chosen him because she was attracted to him. She had chosen him out of necessity.

She had never been in such a relationship before and at times she really struggled with the fact that she would be in this one for the rest of her life.

She often wondered what she was missing out on.

She knew it was her own fault. She only had herself to blame for her being tied to John and she felt guilt bubble in her chest every time she thought about how unfair it was of her to point out his own commitment issues when she struggled with them daily as well.

She had come to love him in the time they had been together. But for a long time there was no rush when she looked at him. No instant chemistry that had her wet with anticipation.

She guessed this was why she couldn’t just admit her feelings. They were new to her and completely foreign from any thing she had ever experienced.

Love to her was all steamy kisses and hot sex that had her salivating at the memory. She likened the two different feelings to the temperature of water. The love that she had previously felt was like a steaming hot bath that immediately felt like ecstasy as you slid in to it. But after a while the water had you over heating and the contented sensation you felt turned to uncomfortable urges to depart.

Her love for John however was like a lukewarm hot spring you felt you could float in forever.

Comfortable and safe.

She always wondered in the back of her mind if what she felt for John was real love and that’s why it was so different. The kind of love that made you want to stay up all night talking or take care of them when they’re sick. Instead of just jumping their bones every time you were near them.

Regardless of what she personally felt she knew that John himself was hopeless she infatuated with her.

This was what prevented her from saying the words she knew he was so desperate to hear. She knew once she said them there was no going back. Not without completely destroying him in the process and he was such a kind soul. He didn’t deserve to be ruined for every other woman over the likes of her.

She honestly wasn’t all that worried about the other woman Arthur had told her about. John was so sweet on her she couldn’t imagine him ever straying. But just to be safe she wanted to make her mark when he arrived home late last night smelling of too much whiskey.

She found a way around her commitment and communication issues by fucking him stupid and allowing herself a moment of freedom and truth as she came undone under his hands. Crying out that she loved him and letting him hear those words she knew she urgently needed to say for his sake. But also able to play it off as a moment of weakness due to her lust clouded mind; so she didn’t have to feel so stupid for just saying it out loud.

She felt she could take it back if she decided she wanted to and maybe he wouldn’t take it as badly because she hadn’t looked him in the eyes and declared her undying desire.

Although she never intended to take it back. She felt she needed that escape plan locked and loaded in case one day it all became too much.

She headed towards Hosea’s tent, intending to stop briefly in her own to pick up her coat as is was getting cooler. She pushed through the entrance, catching sight of John sitting on his cot as the day light flashed through the door.

‘Speak of the devil.’ She thought to herself as she dropped the tarp and covered them both in darkness.

The afternoon sunlight shone through the small gaps in the canvas, giving her just enough light to see her surroundings. She squinted, brows furrowing as she focused on her husband. He was sitting, knees pulled up against his chest and arms resting on top of them. His head hung low, forehead resting on his arms as he wept with abandon.

Abigail stood still, shocked in to inaction as she watched his shaking shoulders and wondered if he had heard her enter the tent.

“John…” She said softly, taking a step towards him with her hand out stretched. He ignored her, breath stuttering and hitching as he struggled with the sobs wracking his chest.

She just stood, watching him cry for a minute or two. She hoped he would react to her. Taper off or try to talk but he continued to ignore her. His body convulsing with each stammering breath he took in. Unable to stop the loud expulsion of air that came out in cries muffled against his own knees.

Abigail stepped closer, pressing a hand against his shoulder and flinching as he shrugged it off. She felt a flash of anger as he rejected her comfort, her hand balling in to a fist momentarily before she took a moment to compose herself and let her lose palm fall back by her side.

She moved to sit down on the edge of his cot. She tried to speak to him, whispering soft questions that went unanswered.

She had only seen him cry once before and nothing like this. He seemed absolutely consumed with grief and it shook her to her core. She wanted to understand him. To have him tell her what the hell was going on. But he ignored her, continuing to wallow in his own self-pity as if she weren’t present until eventually the helpless feeling inside her began to turn sour and she decided with a hint of spite that there really was nothing more she could do for him.

She glared at his frame in the darkness, thoughts of pretty barmaids and shady affairs flittering through the forefront of her vision as she started to wonder if perhaps there was more to his night than she had grasped.

He had just returned from town an hour or two earlier and she hadn’t seen him since.

She wondered if maybe he had gotten his heart broken and was surprised to feel a stab of pain inside her own heart.

She shook it off, remembering how hard she had worked the night before to remind him exactly where he belonged when he had returned home and how grateful he had been when he’d awoken this morning.

She stood, grabbing her coat from beside her own cot and watched him from the corner of her eye as he failed to react to her imminent departure. It was frustrating to be ignored when she knew wholeheartedly how badly he typically wanted her attentions.

She sighed, shaking her head as she tried one last time to get through to him. He continued to ignore her. Continued to cry. She huffed in indignation.

He wanted so badly to keep her for himself but couldn’t open up to her in his apparent time of need. It didn’t make sense.

She backed out of the tent. Letting the tarp fall closed behind her and standing for a minute to compose herself before throwing her jacket over her shoulders and continuing on to check up on Jack.

She resolved to try again with John after making sure her boy was fed. He didn’t deserve her to snub him completely even if she was hurt by his disregard. She understood he probably just needed a while to process whatever he was going through before he could talk.

John held his breath momentarily, lifting his head a smidge to peak over his arms, bottom lip trembling as he watched her walk away through the crack where the canvas door didn’t completely close.

He placed his head back down unable to stop the onslaught of tears. His heart was broken. He mourned the loss of not only his relationship with Abigail but the fleeting happiness he had let consume him from the moment she said those three words.

He had taken her at face value and truly believed her when she said she loved him. But his world had shattered in a matter of seconds. One shrug destroying everything he had been working for, for years now. Maggie was right. Abigail’s ‘love’ was just a desperate last-ditch attempt to keep him around so he would continue providing for her.

He couldn’t speak to her. Not now. Maybe not for a while. He had been burned harder than he had expected. Hotter and brighter than when he had realised she had gone back to whoring. More intense than every small slight she had afforded him over the last year put together.

He couldn’t even look at her.

He didn’t understand why she insisted on torturing him. If she didn’t want to be with him romantically, she didn’t have to be. He was a good person at heart. He would at least continue to provide for Jack and she could go back to the life she loved so much from before they began their sorry excuse for a marriage. She could be that strong, independent woman she used to be. Live the life she pined so deeply for. At least that way Jack would be both fed and clothed instead of just one or the other and John himself could try his hand at happiness with another person.

He didn’t want another person. Not deep down. He wanted her, he always had. But Maggie had been a nice distraction from the bullshit and he felt that given the chance, he could love her as much as he loved Abigail.

But that chance was gone now. Well and truly stomped in to the dust just like his heart at this current time.

His chest stung painfully as he sobbed allowed. He had burned his bridges with her for Abigail’s sake. He had honestly really liked her. But more than that, he like that she liked him. At this point in his life he was feeling so desperate for affection he would truthfully take what he could get in ways of a lover. It was a huge bonus to him that Maggie was not only gorgeous, but hilarious, fun and impulsive.

He supposed, really when he thought about it. Even if he hadn’t burnt his bridges with her, he would be too heartbroken over Abigail to continue whatever he had with her anyway. He would have ended it for her sake. It wasn’t fair to ask her to stick around as he pined after another woman.

He wondered briefly if she would even want to. If maybe… He was worth waiting for?

Stopping those thoughts before they could go any further he scolded himself, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands as he tried to calm himself down.

He was hardly worth the wait.

 

~

 

John found that once the tears started he couldn’t stop them. The outlaw life had kept him so closed off from his emotions for so long. He had suppressed more than his fair share of sadness since he was a child. It seemed only fit that once he let go of that dam he had been barely holding together, the water would continue to flow until it was completely gone.

Empty.

The way he felt right at this moment. He stared blankly at the canvas above his head, hands wringing together slowly as he thought. The tears had finally dried, if only momentarily and he was left with a sense of emptiness and desolation he had never felt before.

His chest felt hollow and his throat was raw. His eyes stung and burned and his head pounded in a way he hadn’t felt since the grief of losing his Father nearly twenty years before.

He knew he looked a mess and he couldn’t bring himself to care. His face was red and blotchy, eyes swollen and hair a messy nest of knots.

He swallowed hoarsely, sniffing as he inhaled and exhaling again shakily.

He really needed a cigarette.

He sat up on his cot, feeling around in his pockets and clenching his fists in annoyance as he remembered he had smoked his last one the day before.

He growled angrily, an irritated cry of frustration leaving him as he threw his head in his hands and rubbed at his eyes roughly.

He refused to cry over a god damn smoke.

He pulled himself together somewhat, flipping his legs over the edge of the cot and looking to Abigail’s side of the tent with hungry eyes.

He glanced to his side, swaying his body as needed to get a good look out of the crack in the tent door. He saw Abigail across the camp, sitting at the fire with Jack and Tilly. He licked his lips, jumping up and moving to her side to rummage through her things.

He shuffled through some clothes, moving dresses, shirts and boots out of the way and realising how many more items of clothing she had than him. He huffed in annoyance, hands gripping a little too tight on a pair of leather boots that looked to be brand new and damn expensive. Not a scuff on them. He ignored the fact that she wouldn’t really have a chance to scuff up her boots as he did in his line of work. He ignored it on purpose, letting anger at the purchase consume him as he threw them across the tent. They hit the opposite wall with a satisfying thud and he felt a sense of gratification sweep over him.

It felt good.

He looked down at the dress in his other hand and his lip twitched as he felt the soft fabric in between his fingers and thumbs. He tugged at it experimentally. There was no give in the starchy fabric. He moved erratically, pulling his arms in separate directions and ripping it easily in two before he could rationally think of the consequences.

He took a deep breath, feeling guilt simmer in his chest ahead of his other emotions. He closed his eyes as if not looking at what he had done would make the feeling lessen.

He placed the dress down on top of her other things and sat back on his heels. Hands hanging loosely by his sides as he scanned her belongings for any sign of her cigarettes. He figured she must have them with her.

He sighed, pushing himself up on his arms and making to stand. He stopped, sitting back down as a glint of metal caught his eye. He pushed aside the ruined dress and grunted as he laid eyes on several hoarded cans of fruit.

“She eats like a fucking queen.” He muttered to himself, anger sparkling in him as he thought back on the last few days and how little he had eaten. How she had berated him for spending some of the money _he_ had earned on a meal for himself when he had been half starved for a week and unknowingly sleeping next to food unguarded by Dutch’s watchful eye.

He trembled with rage. His hands shaking uncontrollably as he gathered her things in his arms.

If she didn’t want to share her bed, her food, her heart. Then she couldn’t share his tent. He decided in a moment of rashness. He stood with the things he had already rummaged through, moving to the front of the tent and literally throwing them out the door.

He tied the door flap back and returned to her side, grabbing other items at random and tossing them over his shoulder towards the exit.

He felt liberated with his decision, frustrating seeping out of every pore as he violently wrenched the sheets off her cot and threw them outside.

He glanced outside briefly as he threw it, catching a glimpse of all the eyes looking in his direction. He felt a sense of embarrassment as he realised he was causing a commotion. He pushed it down, returning to his task and adding Abigail’s hair accessories and make up to the pile.

He left Jack’s belongings untouched. He was just a kid. He had done nothing wrong.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Abigail whisper shouted as she came storming through the entrance to the tent. Her hands were on her hips and her face was red with anger or embarrassment, John couldn’t tell.

He turned to her, puffing his chest in a feeble attempt at seeming dominant. He lowered his voice to a growl as he answered.

“You ain’t wanna love me.” He hissed, eyes narrowed. “You ain’t wanna be kind to me. Be thankful to me. For all I done for you.” He gestured towards her many belongings strewn on the ground outside the tent. Most of which he had purchased. “Then you ain’t get to live with me neither.” He spat, picking up one of the cans of fruit and throwing it passed her, narrowly missing her head. He had missed on purpose of course, but she didn’t know that. It made her flinch, eyes fearful for a split second before returning to their previous state of hateful scowling. 

He could feel her hatred for him radiating off her in this moment. It ate at him internally, but he kept those feelings at bay by letting his anger run rampant. He deserved her hatred for what he had done to her dress. But he couldn’t rationalise that in this moment.

“What the hell you mean I don’t love you?” Abigail snapped, confusion obvious as she took a few more steps towards him.

“I heard you!” John shouted, gesturing behind himself. “It the woods, talkin’ to Karen. You ain’t love me!” He cried, feeling tears burning at the edges of his eyes but refusing to let them fall.

“I ain’t never said I don’t love you John Marston!” Abigail replied angrily. “You eaves droppin’ on my conversations with other women you’re bound to get yourself hurt.” She stated bluntly, crossing her arms. She did feel bad that he had heard her, but she wasn’t the crying sort. This was a tantrum he was throwing. Acting like a child and she wasn’t about to give in to it. If she didn’t give in to Jack at the age of four she wasn’t about to give in to her twenty six year old husband.

“You… You did!” John doubled down, pointing as if the direction in which she had been standing with Karen mattered heavily. “Karen asked you and you said it…” He trailed off, suddenly realising that he hadn’t actually heard her say the words. But she had implied it. With her long, drawn out, exaggeration of the word love. As if he was a fool for wanting it. For expecting it. He swallowed, going silent as she raised a brow.

“I… Ain’t never said… I don’t love you, John.” Abigail repeated, slower. “Never.” She added for emphasis.

There was a long silence between them as they both contemplated their standing in this argument. Abigail screamed at herself internally. She shouted at her goddamn brain to just tell him. Just confirm what he wanted to hear. Let him know he was loved and all of this would stop.

But she wasn’t able. Something was preventing her from saying it. Literally the best could do was tell him that she had never said she didn’t.

She knew deep down it wasn’t enough. She could see on his face it wasn’t enough. But still she kept her mouth shut, breathing heavily as she let anger at his actions consume her instead.

She glanced sideways, meeting the eyes of some of the other gang members that had crept closer for a better vantage point.

“Can we get some privacy here?” She shouted, suddenly turning on them all with her full wrath. They balked, some of them jumping in to action and pretending to be working as others stood still staring in opposite directions and making out as though they hadn’t been listening.

“God dammit.” Abigail hissed, moving to the door and untying the tarp as if closing the door would make any difference to whether or not people could hear them. “Don’t you touch my shit Williamson!” She yelled in warning, pointing towards Bill who had been inching closer to her clothes. “I’ll know if you touched my delicates.” She growled, letting go of the door and shrouding them from view. “Sick bastard.” She whispered, turning back to John and waiting for a response to her earlier statement.

John stayed silent, unsure where to go from here. He hadn’t technically heard her say it. But his point still stood. She had been talking shit about him and gotten herself caught. Now instead of apologising she was defending her own actions. He felt in all honesty she should be grovelling. But that just wasn’t who she was.

“You ain’t welcome here no more.” He said softly, sad eyes looking her over as he decided to stick to his resolve. He didn’t really want her to go but he couldn’t keep up the charade anymore. Pretending like he was happy with what they had. Hurting so hard on the inside and never allowed to show it on the outside.

It would break him to let her go. But broken people can be healed. It would eventually kill him to keep her around.

‘You can’t fix death.’ He thought to himself bitterly as she gaped at him.

“Seriously?” She asked, tone disbelieving but laced with unbridled anger. “After all I done for you?” She snarled. John laughed out loud at her statement, actually genuinely finding it humorous.

“I’m sorry. What exactly have you done for me?” He asked, chuckling at his own question.

“I been so good to you John. Even after all that business with you runnin’ off!” Abigail answered softly. John screwed up his nose, nostrils flaring as he barely contained his anger at her reply.

“I ran off…” He growled dangerously. “Because you… was out… whorin’!” John screamed the last word of his sentence a genuine bellow that almost shook their small tent. Abigail jumped backwards, eyes wide and stunned in to silence. John had never really, properly, addressed what she had done. They had spoken about it briefly that day after the river. But never again. He had also never screamed at her. Throughout the entirety of their relationship he had never so much as raised his voice at her no matter how loudly she shouted at him.

Another silence descended on them, the only sound being John’s heavy breathing as he struggled to stay as calm as possible. He couldn’t believe she was bringing up the fact that he had run off, again. He knew in that moment he was right with his earlier assumption. She brought up the one thing he had done wrong in all these years and threw it in his face every time she needed to worm her way out of any wrong doing. Reminding him what a goddamn piece of shit he was so he would step down off his high horse and apologise for inconveniencing her with his hurt.

“What about the boy?” Abigail asked quietly, her tone flat as she stared at the small pile of Jack’s belongings John had left untouched.

“What about him?” John asked back, arms folded.

“You gonna make him sleep in the cold too?” Abigail asked, folding her own arms as John closed his eyes for a moment.

“He can sleep here. If he wants.” He said finally, making Abigail scoff.

“Away from his Mumma?” She asked incredulously.  

“Yes.” John answered simply. He wasn’t about to give in to her, let her stay in his tent for Jack’s sake.

“He can’t be away from his Mumma John. So really you makin’ a choice for him ain’t you?” She spat, looking at him with distain.

“If that’s the way you wanna look at it.” John replied, tone flat. Abigail roared angrily, a moment of frustration bubbling over as he screwed her hands in to fists and turned away from him lest she actually physically attack him.

“I can’t believe you’re makin’ your boy sleep in the cold.” She tried again, shaking her head. She felt something akin to guilt trying to escape her chest but kept pushing it down forcefully. John wasn’t budging and she was rapidly losing this battle. She was about to be sleeping on her ass outside and she wasn’t having it. Using Jack as a pawn to tug on John’s heartstrings really was her only chance at getting what she wanted.

She turned back, surprised to see John red faced and quivering. He shook his head, pursing his lips as he exhaled forcefully.

“He ain’t my boy.” He growled, so softly she barely heard it. He winced against that pain, feeling guilt flash through him as he spoke. He loved Jack, he always had. But he knew deep down he was not his child. It just wasn’t possible. The timelines never lined up and he had been ignoring it for years out of love for her. But it was something that quietly ate at him almost constantly. Nipping at the edges of his thoughts in his darkest hours or fleeting moments of happiness.

“How could you say that?” Abigail asked quietly, her voice venomous as she looked him up and down with disgust.

“We both know he ain’t my boy Abigail.” John repeated, feeling rather than hearing his voice wavering as he spoke. “Besides.” He said confidently, shoving aside the hurt. “No use in me tryin’ to learn how to Father him when his Mumma don’t even want to know me.” He spat, his voice more dangerous than she had ever heard it before.

“Well if that’s the way you feel—” She began.

“It weren’t the way I felt!” John shouted. “You knew that! But it sure as hell was the way you felt and I can’t help that.” He yelled, fuming. “I… I can’t help that.” He choked, voice breaking. “I’ve done everythin’ in my power to make you love me Abigail but it still ain’t enough.” He inhaled, breath stuttering. “I work for you. I pay for you. I go without eatin’ for you.” He said, pointing to his fingers as he listed things. “I love you…” He said softly, heart aching as he finally let the tears he had been holding back slip down his cheeks.

He trailed off once more. Feeling there was literally nothing left to say to her. He had finally expressed himself in a way he probably should have much sooner than this.

Abigail stared at him, feeling tears sting the corners of her own eyes but managing to hold them back much better than he could. She wasn’t suffering from the same mental and physical exhaustion he was and therefore was a lot more stable in her own emotions.

She nodded, refusing to pander to his tantrum and repeat her loving words from the night before.

John watched as she moved past him. Momentarily thinking she was coming in for a hug and feeling disappointment stab at his heart as she leant down to gather Jack’s things.

She took a deep breath as she stood back to her full height. She exhaled slowly, meeting his gaze and licking her lips as she took in the dark circles under his red ringed eyes. The lines on his young face that aged him dramatically. The way his pupils dilated when he looked at her.

She looked away, moving to the entrance of the tent and slipping through it without another word. John watched her go, his heart breaking all over again as he realised what an idiot he had been. How far he had pushed things in a manner of minutes by letting his anger take control of him.

His chest was heavy with regret and sorrow. He let himself fall back on to her empty cot. Placing his face in his hands and rubbing at his eyes irately.

He really was such a fool.

**Author's Note:**

> Time for LONG notes.
> 
> I really hope I did an okay job at making Abigail the villain in John’s mind but also conveying the fact that she’s not actually the villain he thinks she is. A LOT of the issues in their relationship are due to poor communication and misunderstandings. Abigail isn’t good with her feelings and John is someone that needs to be told he’s loved. So their relationship was kind of doomed from the start. UNLESS they both magically realise their shortcomings and own up to them. They need to have a huge talk about what they both expect from one another and what’s going to make each of them happy. 
> 
> In case anyone was wondering YES Maggie is Bonnie’s sister. But no I don’t think John ever does work that out.  
>  The next story takes place through out the story of RDR2! Starting with Colter/Horseshoe. Hopefully I can offer some behind the scenes views on some of the camp interactions we’re all witnessing. Hopefully this story explains well why John is sleeping in a tent by himself for early game and also why he’s so damn distant towards Abigail and Jack during the game despite his love for her earlier in my series. 
> 
> Please let me know if you liked this!! Every comment absolutely makes my day!


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